Resident Evil: Dark Days of the Apoc
by DisclosedBarrel
Summary: You all seen it. The lovely Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy march through the ruins of the R.P.D. What you never saw were the unusual events surrounding a Doctor Scott Wesker, some that involved him in the duo's struggle to escape the city. With a traitorous snake and a U.S.S. B.O.W. lurking around backstage, trust is all they have... Are their friends who they appear to be?
1. The beginning

DOCTOR SCOTT WESKER (PROLOGUE)

A bizarre incident occurred on the outskirts of America's suburb, Raccoon City. It was later revealed the terrible disaster was caused by the T-virus – a mutagen toxin created by the international enterprise Umbrella Incorporated – for using in bio organic experiments. The Raccoon Police Department's S.T.A.R.S. team immediately began an investigation into the affair. The case was apparently closed, thanks to the efforts of the surviving S.T.A.R.S. members, Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Zachary Wesker, Barry Burton, Rebecca Chambers and Brad Vickers. But the Umbrella Corporation experiments were far from finished.

Umbrella had always hidden their unjustifiable actions from the public, for their personal gain and future at the expense of their consumers. This unfortunate accident would be the one that would mean the end of Raccoon City, thus tipping the scales. The real incident was put in motion during July 1998 but escalated to disastrous levels the months after.

It was Saturday 29th, September 1998. It all began with a determined woman and a rookie police officer, shortly after they arrived in a dead Raccoon City. It was a deadly game of wit and survival.

Claire Redfield, an acclaimed college student, arrived at an empty street, far outside the city centre. The ominous cold air brought out the darkness of the night, the streets were always dangerous at times like this, and she only just heard that through word of mouth.

She wasn't prepared to ride her motorcycle through the town alone in the dark, the total absence of life was far below unsettling. With short breaths, Claire checked inside the diner, of course, it was empty. The state of the mess inside was looked as if the customers and staff left in a sudden rush. Plates and crockery were littered all inside, her intuition was screaming at her not to go inside, but her curiosity got the better of her.

Claire went inside and called, "Helloooo? Anyone here?" Her eyes darted around the room and bar, nothing responded to her call. "Hello?" She peered around over the bar and noticed a person. "Excuse me?"

The person in question was what appeared to be feasting on a fresh corpse, looked like a cannibal to Claire's eyes. Whatever it was, it stared at her with a hungry look that may never be satisfied.

Claire gasped as the cannibal rose from behind the bar and reached for her in a sudden twitch. "Whoa!" she exclaimed. The cannibal crawled over the counter and shuffled to Claire. "Look, I'm sorry I bothered you. I didn't see anything, okay?" The 'cannibal' didn't respond, in fact, it opened its arms and went on real close to Claire. "Are you listening?!"

Claire bumped into the wall and looked back outside. Banging on the windows were some more of these cannibals, they possessed the same hungry death stare for her. They heaved their weight on the glass, trying to get inside, at this moment Claire began to feel a bit claustrophobic. She made a run for the rear door seconds before the cannibal lunged at her.

The door opened before she grabbed hold of the handle and walked into the sights of another figure, it was a blond man in R.P.D. uniform, early twenties and was armed. She covered her face and was nearly sure she was getting a bullet to the head.

"Wait! Don't shoot!" she cried.

"Get down." Claire ducked and let the officer execute the cannibal tailing her. He offered Claire his hand back on her feet; friendly and a gentleman, he was. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She coughed. "Thanks, Officer."

"Hey, Leon Kennedy, nice to meet you. And you are?"

"Claire, Claire Redfield."

"Listen, it's too dangerous to stay here. You need to come with me to the Police Department. It'll be a lot safer."

Leon and Claire fled the diner quickly, though some of the shuffling cannibals from the streets followed Leon and lingered outside the restaurant. There was no clear way to get back to their respected vehicles, but luck struck when Leon pointed out a vacant police cruiser, vacantly sitting on the pedestrian walkway. The keys were still in the ignition, Leon buckled up, pulled out and took off on the main road.

Being the expert driver he claimed to be, Leon still had the occasional problems driving through vehicle wreckages and small roadblocks. They drove east towards the Police Department, left for the pedestrian path time to time but remained on the main road.

"What's going on in this town?!" Claire said. She stared out the window to see the city's absence of life. Walls smeared with blood and graffiti were as common as the dead bodies. Some of them walked. "I just got here, and the whole town has gone insane."

Leon tried to get the cruiser's radio working since all the stations were full of static he lost his cool and hit it with his fist. "All the stations are out."

"So... you're a cop?"

"Yeah. Today was supposed to be my first day on the job."

Claire choked. "How's your first day coming along?" she said, lightly. She had hoped it would soften the tension. She was wrong.

Leon chuckled morbidly, though remained alert, watching the road like a hawk. "Take a wild guess," he replied charmingly.

"Your guess is as good as mine here. What can you make of this crap going on?"

"I have no idea, and I figure you don't too, from you asking. Although it doesn't take a genius to see that some people are a bit cannibalish."

"A bit?" Claire tampered with the radio. It started working until it blew a fuse and went kaput. "Damn it," she exclaimed. "I think I can get it running again." She unsheathed a serrated combat knife from her left shoulder and tried to remove the radio from the slot. "Maybe the radio has an idea on things."

Leon noticed a blue emblem, decorated with gold S.T.A.R.S. engraved on Claire's knife. "S.T.A.R.S.? You with the special forces?"

"It's my brother's. That's why I'm here, to find him, and my boyfriend."

"Damn..." Leon cleared his dry throat. Not because he found Claire gorgeous or something, and he was shy about it, but there was no way she was single, and it was hard to ask. He knew that. "Uhm… What are their names?"

Sparks shot off the cruiser's radio, scaring Claire, but she resumed with determination and went back at it with her knife. Using the tip as a screwdriver. "Chris, Chris Redfield and Zachary Wesker. I lost contact with them both a while ago. I'm trying to pick up on their trail."

"I hope you find them; this is not a place to be a loner."

With a scowling expression, Claire cursed and made a move to the glove box, giving up entirely on the radio. "There's gotta be something in here that can help us."

"Let it go, Claire. We'll be at the station soon; they'll have answers. What are you hoping to find in there anyway?"

"Anything that isn't junk."

Inside the glove box wasn't the junk Claire was dreading. There wasn't anything inside at all, just a single loaded Browning HP handgun. She took it and checked the sights. It was a good handgun. High damage and accuracy at the expense of a smaller magazine.

"I knew there was a gun in here."

"Did you now?"

Suddenly, a cannibal crawled in between Leon and Claire, driving a wedge through them. The surprise and fear in Leon's eyes threw his driving into the gutter, as he lost most of the cruiser's control and careened off the road and ramming through anything on the path. Mowing down lampposts, garbage cans and anything in its path.

The hijacker tried biting at Leon while he and Claire struck its face as hard and as often they could, though up close they had no emotion or any expressions on their pale faces, maybe cannibal wasn't the right term. They just didn't care.

Leon swerved through in a zigzag pattern, from one side of the road to another, grazing a parked sedan in which that tilted the cruiser to the side. With a sharp right turn, Leon threw the weight to one side and swivelled out of control before rear-ending a firm brick walk.

The sudden stop in speed launched the hijacker through the rear view windshield and at the wall, killing it instantly with fatal head trauma. Leon and Claire shortly recovered from a minor case of whiplash, mostly through groans, grunts and slight cursing. The pain phased out quickly.

There wasn't much time, a large eighteen wheeler in the distance accelerating at their cruiser at full speed, it was commandeered by another one of those things. The two felt tense and had to ditch the vehicle ASAP. They exited opposite sides leaving the massive wheeler to ram the cruiser into the wall, causing a glorious fiery explosion, leaving a hellish wall of flames to separate the two. Hellfire raged amongst the smouldering wrecks.

"Claire!"

"Leon?!" Claire replied, throwing her voice.

The excessive smoke and fumes made Leon's voice hoarse; his tone was soft albeit loud. "Head for the station! I'll meet you there!" he called, softly.

Minor shellshock ringed around both of their heads from the fiery eruption, and with intense flames shrouding the sky above with a blanket of thick smoke, there was no way to get through without serious singing. In spite of their limited ammo, Leon and Claire had to solely rely on just their handguns to reach the R.P.D. safely.

Stray vehicles and lumbering 'things' was the norm, the buildings were all boarded up, and it was only around a small left turn towards the gun store. Claire bobbed and weaved through the small street into the only open building to seek refuge.

It was a gun store, Robert Kendo's. The store was looted from anything and everything that proved to be a weapon, not a single gun or bullet was seen to the naked eye. Claire walked to the counter and was immediately put in her place when a middle-aged man in a vest sprung up from behind the counter and held her at gunpoint.

"Freeze!" he yelled. "State your name and business!"

Claire surrendered and put both of her arms above her head. "Don't shoot! I'm not one of them!"

The man groaned and put away his shotgun, letting Claire relax her arms. "Sorry about that ma'am. I thought you were one of those things out there."

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Hold on." The man walked past Claire and locked the door behind her, then addressed her. "I have no idea, darlin'. By the time I noticed something was wrong it was too late, the town was already infested with zombies."

"Zombies?"

"What else could they be? It's the only real word for them. Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what? I only just got into town."

"Damn…" He shook his head. "This infection was all over the news and radio, the last few days. Mass suicide, paranoia and acts of cannibalism being of the few."

"I gotta get out of here." She walked to the back door.

"You take care of yourself now, you hear?"

Claire looked back. "You're staying here?"

"It's safe here for me. I'll be fine."

Claire left the gun store, and after a few steps towards a flight of stairs, she overheard something smash back in the shop, followed by some gunfire and screaming. The struggle attracted her to head back inside, but after some sounds of pure silence she knew she was too late, she couldn't save him.

Even if she kicked the door down and opened fire on whatever was in there, it would be for nothing. She let go of the door and faced the fact that the friendly man was gone.


	2. RPD's fall

Claire found it was easy to dart through the shuffling zombies that littered the city streets, only the bus is more of an obstacle if there was any. She reached the R.P.D. safely and without expending any valuable bullets on the walking corpses.

The double green doors of the R.P.D. felt another home. Seeing her brother for a coffee break and chat, then soon seeing her boyfriend for the same reason. Though he enjoyed working so much, the R.P.D. it was like a second home to him. Never understood why he'd rather work than be at home, but she liked commitment.

Lumbering outside the main entrance was a lone zombie; it wore a bright yellow flight jacket with a S.T.A.R.S. logo imprinted on the left tricep, Claire hoped it wasn't anyone she knew… Up close it wasn't Zaac or Chris.

After killing the zombie with a well-placed headshot, the body slumped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. It was unfortunate to see a special forces member fall victim to the dreaded virus, but there was no other way.

On the person was a card case, inside was an ID card, belonging to Brad Vickers. That name only rings a bell because at home Chris, and Zaac would often mock and impersonate him for being such a coward, to get some cheap laughs among themselves and Claire now and then.

They never acted mean at his expense; it was just for shits and giggles. This time it wasn't funny, old Chickenheart has finally kicked the bucket. He was infected. He was a zombie. And he was nothing but the shadow of his former self.

The main hall of the R.P.D. was a wondrous sight to behold. The beauty that was once a museum still had charm and beautiful décor, from the nearly iconic stone statue next to the reception desk and tasteful stained glass windows all across the second floor.

Plus seeing the R.P.D. insignia on the quartz ground helped Claire feel a lot safer, only because she wasn't dragged there by someone against her will. Some cops back then were real assholes.

Though for a safe location with thick walls and a good size hall, there was a layer of dead bodies all over, most were recent kills and all comprised of zombies. Strangely it was quiet and absent of all life, despite signs of action recently. Spent shell casings littered with the corpses.

Claire took the second door to her left to one of the rooms where the magic apparently happens. A wreck was an understatement for the west office, wooden tables and chairs stretched down the middle of the room, and almost all of them were smashed to bits from huge forces or weight.

Files and crockery were scattered all across the floor, the lockers by the door were caved in from some explosive punch, crumbling the wall and floor around Claire's feet. Bullet casings were rolling around the smashed tables and ground.

A bleeding man was seen sat up by some lockers nearby; he wore an R.P.D. uniform, was late-thirty and light African-American. He bled heavily from his torso and neck but was struggling to stay conscious.

Claire squatted down to him. "Oh my God. Are you alright, Officer?"

He groaned. "I don't know anymore," he strained through his bloody teeth. "Who are you?"

"Claire, Claire Redfield. I'm looking for my brother Chris and my boyfriend Zaac. Have you seen them anywhere?"

"Oh, right… Chris' sister."

"The very same. Can you please help me? I don't know where to start."

"Chris… I know for a fact he and Jill went to Europe, vacation, I think… Didn't say much, kept to himself recently."

Claire smiled, almost beaming. "Oh? Well, that's great! Guess I don't have to worry about him, for now at least, not when he's with Jill… Don't suppose you can help me find Zaac."

"Zaac..." The Officer sat up. Certainly hurting himself more as he spoke with more strain on his voice, "H-He agreed to stay in the city to keep an eye on the infection," he said, "It was too much for him to handle, bless him."

"Wait! Zaac was here? When?" she asked, sharply. "Please, I need to find him."

"He was here this Wednesday."

"What happened here?"

"Two months ago there was this… incident in the Arklay Mountains, a mansion on the outskirts of the city limits, involving zombie-like creatures." The Officer twitched his neck and cleared his throat. "It started off as a simple murder investigation, but it was much more than that, it was a fatal mistake and a vastly disturbing experience for all of the ones lucky enough to survive."

Claire's heart stopped momentarily. "Oh my God..."

"The worst part is: Umbrella was behind everything. Even at the risk of their lives, Chris and the other surviving S.T.A.R.S. members blabbed their findings, but no one believed them." He groaned, with a slight wince of pain in his tearful eyes.

"What happened to Raccoon?"

"Zaac heard there were cases of missing people all over the city. He compared it to the missing person cases before the Mansion Incident, and the starting results matched. He confirmed the worst; the T-virus has spread into the city."

"This just gets worse and worse by the second..."

"The very second the missing people were found eaten, Captain Wesker split the R.P.D. into two groups. One was to fortify the R.P.D. walls, and the other was to begin extracting civilians from their homes and into the safety of the R.P.D. The citizens weren't convinced at first, and thought S.T.A.R.S. was stirring paranoia." He rubbed his eyes and suddenly jerked his shoulders.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Ignoring Claire's concern, he continued, "He sent an evacuation plea to the military, their first and ONLY response was..." He sighed. "That his request was denied. They weren't authorised to help; their orders was to maintain the perimeter and nothing else."

"Seriously?" With a scowl on her face, Claire raised her voice, "Selfish assholes!"

"There was no word to describe the anger when he got their response. After the… after the R.P.D. extracted as many survivors they could behind the walls, the R.P.D became the city's registered safe zone. After hours of dark nights and limited resources, the officers – excluding myself – rallied against Zaac's orders and decided to take the situation into their hands."

"That's mutiny!"

"Before the S.T.A.R.S. members went away on their terms and Zaac, unfortunately, got the S.T.A.R.S. Division disbanded – after a recent outburst against Chief Irons. He just didn't have the respect or the influence to keep the officers together. Not like many people believed the situation was that bad, from their denied accusations." His voice dropped in tone and felt lighter, "Zaac and the other half of officers made plans to bottleneck the masses of infected outside Johnson National Bank. The operation would safeguard the citizens in the surrounding area and funnel them towards the safe zone."

"Before he left," he continued, "Zaac entrusted Sergeant Parker and I to finish what he started, to fortify the defences and find a way to evacuate the survivors. Out of all the men that headed to the Johnson National, I thought Zaac would be the one to come back and finish the job… but…" Tears ran down the Officer's eye. "A lot of those good men, including Zaac, which went off to cull the infected was lost… None of them came back..."

Claire's face ran white with dread and sorrow, tears formed around her eyes, then began to dribble down her cheeks. "No… no… nonononoNO!" She sat down with her hands in her lap, staring down and her twitchy fingers. "Months apart and this is how it ends?" She tried to cry but stayed firm.

The Officer placed his caring hand on Claire's left shoulder; he smiled from pride and joy. Even if it did hurt him to do so. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news; this is just based on theory. His fate is not confirmed. If he were still alive, he'd be here now already."

Claire wiped her eyes from the tears and muck and spoke calmly, "I know Zaac, he's a survivor, and he's got a strong heart. I just wish…" She sighed. "It's been so long since I've seen him, we have a son for fuck's sake… I don't want David growing up without a father."

The Officer choked and sputtered lightly. "Congratulations..."

"Thanks. Thanks for everything Officer."

"I'm Sergeant… Marvin Branagh."

"Marvin."

"There's nothing left for your here, Claire."

"There's you, Marvin."

"Don't worry about me. Just rescue the survivors in the other rooms – if there are any. I can't be the only one here..." He let go of Claire and handed her a blue key card. "Take this and override the doors on the terminal at the main hall's desk. Now go, please..."

"Okay, I'll be back soon. Just hang in there." She made for the door back towards the main hall but stopped halfway. "Marvin… just so you know. Zaac always spoke highly of you, and you were one of the best."

Marvin shrugged off Claire's comment and scoffed. "Does he really?"

"You tell me." She peered over her shoulder to Marvin. "You were the one that enlisted him into the R.P.D. Men like Zaac doesn't forget the people who helped him get to where he is today." She uttered to herself, "If he's still alive." She swayed her head and left the office.

In the main hall, Claire has realised that the way to the east office and the reception desk were both locked. The terminal was still on. The hardware was heating up, so it's been on for a while now. It was also logged into the R.P.D. database; it was a S.T.A.R.S. account. Zaac Wesker's… She rummaged through his profile and found his last activity was a few hours ago.

 _Could he still be alive?_

Claire opened the last two of the four doors, electronically with Marvin's keycard. She took the time to rifle through his messages and found nothing. He'd often complain about messages deleting themselves for no reason, didn't think he was serious. Those messages would have been handy. There were no messages in or out. She took off from the terminal and went to the reception office.

Past the reception desk and towards the window in the back, Claire took a look outside. It was dark of darkest nights, those horrible cold nights she'd stay in bed, waiting for Zaac to come home. Spoiling the moment was a monster, a skinless, red monster with claws scuttling over the window like a spider. Then the night consumed it.

The R.P.D. walls were safe enough to keep the beasties outside, so Claire just moved on into the L-shaped corridor next to the window. Straight away the sounds of faint dripping summoned her to a fresh corpse.

Closer inspection implies the victim had already turned and was recently decapitated. That's when something dripped in her hair. She only needed to look up to see something worse than any other zombie.

It was the monster from outside. Crawling slowly on the ceiling above her, it hissed and snarled at her, exposing its long fangs. Real flesh-ripping teeth. It was also blind, a long flexible tongue and a muscular build. They were worse up close. And that brain of theirs… it was exposed. What was it? A licking zombie? The windows on the left wall were all broken so it must've broken inside.

The Licker dropped from the ceiling in between Claire and the door in front of her. She backed away slowly. It didn't move. Then she came by the corpse and stepped on some glass by the broken window next to it. That's when the licker began to pick up on her.

The Licker lunged its body at Claire as she was about to step off the glass shards. It was faster than her, so running wasn't an option. She was able to divert herself to the wall by the windows, the Licker landed against the wall behind her and missed. Placing itself on the wall, it was ready to pounce again. Claire recovered quicker. She ran for the door head as fast as she could. Before it could lunge again.

Claire reached a second floor west corridor, the one with the S.T.A.R.S. office in. The fond memories of waiting for her brother Chris to come down those stairs and take her out to dinner, shopping and the occasional coffee break. Good times.

This would be the first time she could see what it was like inside. The corridor was empty, old leaflets and posters occupied the walls.

A zombie cornered a blonde girl in a white and blue uniform. Naturally, she was terrified and cried for help before she fled for her life around a corner. Claire put down the zombie and chased after the girl. Into a lounge, the girl was gone. Leon was walking towards her from a chain of ransacked lockers to the left. He looked disappointed.

"Leon!" Claire called, happily.

"Claire. You made it."

"Have you seen a little girl in a blue uniform come by here?"

Leon turned around and stared back to the chain of lockers. "Yeah, you just missed her. Who is she?"

"I don't know, but it's too dangerous for her to be here alone."

"I tried going after her, but the door back there is broken," he said, pointing to a door beyond the chain of lockers. It was boarded up with wood and half of it was missing. "It's far too small for an adult. And it's boarded."

Leon turned around and walked to a drink vending machine behind Claire. It was old and unused. He had loose change in his hand. The jingle of his coins sounded nice to Claire's ears. "She's probably terrified," he continued. "Who can blame her?" He put some coins in the machine and pressed a button for a classic cola. The machine choked and refused to give Leon his soda. "Gimme a break…"

"Choked up?"

"Yeah..." He sighed. "I need a drink. Never prepared for something like this. This is a terrible situation."

"Not like things can get any worse." She struck the vending machine in a sweet spot at the bottom and leant on it, folding her arms. She was smug.

"Why did you-"

"Wait for it..." she interrupted. The vending machine made a _clunk_ and Leon's soda dropped for his collection. "Ta-daaaa."

Leon smirked. "Thanks." He took his soda can and opened it. Claire tried to stop him but the fizz sprayed cola in his face. Claire chuckled. "Thanks a lot..." He wiped his face clean. "Where did you learn that?"

"My boyfriend. Listen, I'll find that girl. You gotta find a way out of here."

"Of course. Before I forget here's a radio." Leon hands Claire a small hand radio. "We'll live a lot longer if we keep in touch."

"Okay. I'll see you soon, hopefully with the girl."


	3. Memories of Captain Wesker

Leon decided to go to the S.T.A.R.S. office. The girl was long gone by now, so Claire had to get a head start to catch up. The office was in shambles. All the desks of the S.T.A.R.S. members were littered with paperweights and useless junk.

There was nothing useful left to use. Files and papers scattered the floor tiles, and there was zilch in the weapon lockers. One of the safest rooms in the city's safe zone and it was empty of all life. A real false sense of security.

Next to the trophy cabinet behind the captain's desk was a large photo frame of all the serving S.T.A.R.S. members. It was a beautiful sight to see. Standing in the back row in a line from left to right in their uniforms were as read.

E. Dewey, F. Speyer, K. Sullivan, R. Aiken, A. Wesker, Z. Wesker, B. Burton and B. Vickers. Kneeling in front of the row, left to right was: K. Dooley, E. Marini, C. Redfield, J. Valentine, J. Frost and R. Chambers.

All wielded assault rifles, taking a stance for the photo. The signature of Chief Brian Irons was signed at the very bottom of the picture frame. Leon would be on the excited side if one of those men was him

On the captain's desk was a layer of bloody bandages and medical supplies – if it wasn't useless files and documents. The blood on the leather chair, desk and bandages were a day old. There were empty bottles of whiskey and vodka rattling around under the table, four of each in total. That much alcohol could kill a man if it was done in one sitting...

A S.T.A.R.S. file was on the desk by the captain's terminal, under an empty cigar case. Leon took one quick glance and soon began to read it. The file was more of a note. The note was written with calm, bloody handwriting, top to bottom. It was quite readable.

September 26th, 1998

This is Captain Zachary Alphonso Wesker of the R.P.D. S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Division. I regret to confirm that Raccoon City is off now a biohazard. An experimental virus created by Umbrella Incorporated has contaminated the entire city. The Tyrant virus has infected Raccoon citizens by the thousands and continues at an alarming rate.

Raccoon's last line of defence against the infected horde at Johnson's National has failed, the R.P.D. as a whole is no more. They're just a memory now. I – the good Captain Wesker – sent an evacuation plea to the American military and waited for an immediate response. That was when I made the Police Department the registered safe zone. Alas, the reply from the military was negative. They quarantined and contained the city, leaving us to our own means. Leaving us to die...

This is a major catastrophe for us all, but judging the current state of the infection, I admit no one can risk it getting out of the city. Not me or the American government. It must NEVER leave the city. Wasn't the best choice I know. Sacrifice a city to save a country, a planet even. Noble. Just sucks, though. After EVERYTHING the R.P.D. and I did for the city, the American government has the nerve to leave us to die. I investigated all my sources and found evacuations aren't a breach of their authority, they had the chance to save the survivors at the R.P.D., and they did nothing! No authority my ass! Umbrella. American government. The military. Don't put too much faith into them.

If anyone is reading this file, then you must've been the one to put me at rest, for I probably have turned by now, from the T-virus. I pray I weren't too much trouble. Umbrella is the enemy that lurks in the shadows, the true culprits behind everything. Do not listen to their lies.

My dearest Claire, I'm sorry for failing our city. I did my best, but it was only natural for me to succumb under the weight of the city. I did everything I could for our citizens, humanly possible. I even fought on the front lines back at the Johnson's National, along with the remaining R.P.D. and SWAT. Not only I got infected evacuating survivors from their homes, I nearly got torn apart by the hordes, and soldiers sent from Umbrella tried to kill me when I was forced to retreat. I wasn't good enough. I am a disgrace.

I sit in my short-lived office trying to think of where to begin, of how to express the things I've witnessed in my life since we last spoke, and already I failed. Forgive the tangents of my pen; this isn't easy for me. Even as I write, I can feel every concept of my life slipping away.

Before I lose myself in bitter despair, I have to tell you what's in my heart. The adrenaline and alcohol only delayed the inevitable, I am still infected, and there is no cure… I can only think of ending myself before passing the burden to others, but I have so much left to give… My love for you is one of them.

I love you, Claire. If you're reading this, please remember the good times and memories we shared together, like those in Paris, I will to the very end. I only ask to die on my feet as the man I am with your love in my mind and soul, once my miserable story is over, I'll be waiting for you on the other side. I pray you survive whatever nightmare waits for your around each corner of this living hell, and know that one day we will be reunited.

This is Captain Zachary Alphonso Wesker of the R.P.D. S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Division. As a man cut down before his prime, it has been an honour serving this city and the people. My only regret was not helping enough to protect our city.

The last few words of the file were illegible; blood splatter obscured the very last few sentences. The "file" was more of a suicide note. Zaac Wesker was dead. How will he break it to Claire? That her boyfriend has died? By his hand or someone else's. Leon felt like it was better for him to ease into it slowly.

He left the scrawled note at the desk and moved on. It was far too grim to let a beautiful woman like Claire read, only to break apart from the depression of sorts. They sounded very close. He'd have to ease the truth bitterly and at the right time.

It was near the main hall that Claire was led astray, in a complete circle, she was back in the east office. The office had fresh corpses, all were zombies and recently killed. They were leading from the small personal office. Marvin sat on the floor inside. He slouched up and shuffled to her and grumbled. It was tireless and full of death. He started turning pale. Marvin turned right in front of her. She backed away and was forced to put him down.

Finally putting him to rest Claire moved on through the evidence room and into the corridors after that. She couldn't find the girl just yet so it was back to finding traces to where her brother has disappeared to. Never did check out that S.T.A.R.S. office yet.

The jungle wood door creaked slowly open on the rusty hinges. The sound was eerie and tore at Claire's eardrums; the bronzed joints were so close to her ears. After the first step inside Claire was put in her place. She wasn't alone. Claire was rudely greeted at gunpoint. Staring down the barrel of a handgun, she glanced past the weapon and at the person holding it.

It was a woman. A young woman, younger than her. Hardly a day over seventeen, she looked like she belonged in school. Fairly petite, she had tousled warm black hair and was beautiful; her flawless emerald eyes were innocent and strained. She wore a green S.T.A.R.S. vest that was far too big for her, didn't look like a force to be reckoned with because she almost looked like an inexperienced youth. A murky R.P.D. badge was seen on her right tricep. She spoke in a skittish tone and sounded scared as a child should be. She looked as if she was crying recently.

"Hold it right there!" she barked, unsure. "Don't come any closer!"

"Not again," Claire sighed, raising her hands above her shoulders. Not moving. "I'm friendly. I'm human. I'm not gonna hurt you." Claire felt like she had to rehearse something like this for future encounters. Rolling it off the tongue automatically was better in case she was held at gunpoint again.

"I'm sorry. I..." The woman lowered her aim and relaxed her arms. "I-I..." She sighed.

Claire relaxed her arms. "You're a S.T.A.R.S. member?"

"No. I… I took the vest from the armoury. Needed protection," the woman shrugged. "Guess you're here for help… I'm sorry… The R.P.D. is gone. They're all dead..." she uttered with huge grief.

"I know. It's because of the infection. Isn't it? Zombies… and all?"

"That's right," the woman replied. "I'm the only officer alive..."

"That's not true. There's a Leon Kennedy here."

"The new guy, really? I gave him a 50-50 bet he'd be dead before his shift started or he'd have time to evacuate the city."

"He's good, really good. We're working together, he's trying to find a way out of the city right now."

"That's… something nice to hear after all the crap I had to put up with."

"Have you got a name I can call you, Officer?"

"Sergeant Annette Parker. I'm usually more peppy and festive in introductions but…" She waved her hand. "This happened… What's your name?"

"Claire Redfield."

Before she could speak, Annette paused for a moment. She was locked in deep thought. "Redfield huh? Chris' sister?"

"Yeah. I _was_ here to find him. Guess that's one problem solved.

"I think he's in Europe anyway. Just sayin', I don't think its R&R he's interested in..."

"I'm glad he's not here, thank fuck, but why are you here all alone?"

"I was trying to find the survivors. You see, the sergeants and Captain Wesker organised a defence plan, and when things got dicey, I left the department to find a way out of the city. I hoped to find Captain Wesker here to report to but..."

Claire stepped in closer to Annette. She leant towards her with wondering eyes. "But…?" Annette didn't respond to Claire's curiosity and started crying in her cupped hands. She sat down at one of the desks to sob a little more. She was useless in her current state, so Claire moved on.

She walked by all the desks, they all had a certain feeling of security on them, then… nothing. Silence and fear consumed all feeling of hope. She riffled through all the draws for any scrap of information. She spent more time examining her brother's desk and the desk Annette was sobbing on, Chris' partner's desk. No draw or paperwork was safe to her wandering eyes.

Success ensued. She had found a green notebook in Chris' bottom drawer. It was his diary; Claire hit the jackpot. Why wouldn't she read it? It was just what she needed. The goodies inside were mouth-watering. She flipped the pages to the last few entries. Most recent ones.

August 8th

I talked to the Chief today once again, but he refused to listen to me. I know for certain that Umbrella conducted T-virus research in that mansion. Anyone infected turns into a zombie. But the entire mansion went up in that explosion along with any incriminating evidence. Since Umbrella employs so many people in this town, no one is willing to talk about the incident. It looks like I'm running out of options.

August 17th

We've all been receiving a lot of local reports about strange monsters appearing at random throughout the city. This must be the work of Umbrella. Zaac agreed to stay in Raccoon to keep an eye on things during our investigation in Umbrella affairs. I only hope for his sake he carries out his plans with positive results.

August 24th

With the help of Jill and Barry, I finally obtained information vital to this case. Umbrella has begun research on a new G-virus, a variation of the original T-virus. Haven't they done enough already?!

The S.T.A.R.S. team talked it over, and some of us have decided to fly to the main Umbrella HQ in Europe. I won't tell my sister about this trip. Forgive me Claire; it's for your own safety. I don't want to put you in danger.

Claire sighed. She kept Chris' diary close inside her red jacket and investigated the office, mainly around the captain's desk. The dried blood on the bandages that littered the desk was fading to a sickly brown and the area around the desk smelt like a pub. It sounds like Zaac's doing. Claire sat down on the leather chair and checked if the terminal was still on like the one in the main hall.

Same again like last time, an account was still signed in, being Zaac's. Last activity was a few hours ago. A lot could happen in an hour, let alone six or more. Missed him by just a handful. Though it wasn't confirmed she was confident to know that there was a chance.

The frustration and joy she had within mixed, and she accidentally struck the keyboard because of it. Annette strolled over to the desk. Her eyes were bloodshot and tired. Haven't even wiped her eyes.

"You okay, Annette?"

"I'll live. Still looking for clues?" She rubbed her weepy eyes.

"Not anymore," Claire said with a wave. "I found what I needed."

"That's good. I heard you say something back there. Is there anything else you're looking for?"

"I just need to find out what happened Zachary Wesker."

"The captain was killed on Wednesday at Johnson's National."

Claire got hugely upset, every time someone mentioned something about Zaac. Everyone knew he was dead but did everyone have to remind here of that regularly. She hid all her emotions behind her blankest stare. She had projected a stern glare but was it rooted enough to hide all her grief?

"I know he's dead." Claire sighed. "I just want closure."

"Why?"

"I miss him… Been away from each other for nearly a year now."

"I'm so sorry for your loss. He was a…" Annette gulped. "He was a good man." She hid her hands behind her back, like a falsely innocent child.

Claire's eyes narrowed. "Thanks..."

"He was a huge inspiration to me and my studies. If it weren't for him, I'd still be in the academy. Taught me everything I know."

"Don't take this the wrong way but were you like… into him or something?"

"What?" Annette waved her hands at Claire, disapprovingly. "Aw, nonononono! I liked him of course but only as a close friend and a boss. For that matter, I found he was too far out of my league."

Claire sighed. "He has a charm on women."

"The way he speaks he only has eyes for one woman, and she's sat in front of me, at his desk."

"That was warming, thank you."

"No thanks are necessary. It comes with the job. You're not gonna find anything about him on the captain's desk." Annette handed Claire a file. "That's all I could find about him. You'd best read it. It isn't good news..."

The emotions were conflicting. All these theories on Zaac's outcome were unsettling; she needed a plain answer. The undetermined fate of Zaac being killed in action or still alive made his ending uncomfortable. A scrawled S.T.A.R.S. file put her curiosity and wonder to rest. Unfortunately, she was probably better off without reading it.

Claire recognised the handwriting anywhere, it was hard to understand, but she digested every word. The hope she had for Zaac was quickly lost once it finally confirmed his fate. It wasn't easy. He committed suicide, apparently.

"I can't believe this. He loved me… he really loved me."

"You were his whole world, Claire."

"But he..." Claire exclaimed with dread. "He killed himself. I'd settle for a body just to see him… and he's not here."

Annette sighed. "All it takes is a little infection, and a person's will is broken."

"I wouldn't want him to suffer anymore. He did so much for me and his friends."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but if you're serious about evacuating the city with that Leon fellow, then your best bet is the sewers. In the R.P.D. kennels, there's a utility hole. It was a last resort if Sergeant Branagh and I couldn't exit through the main gate. Of course, some survivors and officers had to go through the gate anyway, leaving me behind. Guess the manhole is our only escape from the department. I swore there was a spare cruiser handy in the parking lot, but I think the watchman busted it."

"It's decided, we're taking leaving through the sewers. I'll let Leon know as soon as I'm able."

"Cool! I'll see what I can do to get open, and I'll wait for you and Leon there. We'll stay in touch. Got a radio?" Claire waved her radio and Browning at her, with a smile. "Sweet. Later." She turns away and walks to the door.

"Wait," Claire called, stopping Annette. She turned around back to Claire with open ears.

"Yeah?"

"I'll be a little late; I need to look for a little girl."

"Little girl?" Annette let go of the door and turned back around. "There's a little girl on the loose?" She waved her arms about, stammering.

"Yeah. A blonde preteen in a blue uniform. She's a bit skittish and is somewhere in the department alone. I'll find her and meet up with you later."

"I wish you mentioned her earlier, but I guess I'll keep an eye out for her. In the meantime, I'll try and get a hold of Leon, and we'll wait for you down in the kennels. With the girl, I hope..."

"Sounds good. Thanks."

"Okay," Annette said, leaving the office without another word.

Claire couldn't believe it, for the first time she felt so insecure. So hopeless. So empty. At the first moment of silence, Claire cried in her cupped hands and sobbed all over the captain's desk. Heated moments of mournful wailing on the desk, Claire noticed the drawers were open slightly like they were closed in a hurry but never closed shut.

All that was left the two of the drawers were scraps of what appears to be 5.56mm rifle bullets. The one at the bottom housed a small wooden box and a large piece of plastic C-4 – plus the detonator. And in the wooden box, only a 9mm Peacemaker. Quite vintage. With no real reason to stay Claire left the office. Nothing more to do here.


	4. Women troubles

There was a hallway, on the opposite side of the department, behind the empty waiting room. Not very dangerous as the other rooms, as if all zombies were culled beforehand, by someone outside the R.P.D. Some fresh corpses were still filling the floors. There was a heat source blaring from around the narrow corner. A massive wreckage of an R.P.D. helicopter. It was set ablaze with no way around it.

 _Don't feel like getting third-degree burns right now,_ Claire thought, _Couldn't cross over it without scorching of the hair and clothes._

Claire saw a door next to the wreck. It was forced shut by a large weight clamping it shut. Some explosive power was needed. Explosive. Claire took the C-4 from her pocket and stared at it. She wasn't told much about explosives, but she saw how they work in video games and the pictures. Plant and detonate, fire and forget, all the same. The C-4 fit snugly between the wreck and the door frame.

Safely around the corner, Claire detonated the charge. The explosive punch not only rumbled the corridor's walls, shaking faint rubble down upon her, but it also scorched path through the door. Near a door behind that one, there was a gold plaque on the left of it.

"Office of Chief Brian Irons."

Claire didn't know much about Chief Irons; known to be discreet and bitter. Out of nowhere, a shrieking scream was heard behind the double birch doors, before it was silenced by a gunshot. Claire rushed through the doors.

The office was small with many trophies on the walls and bookshelves, along with some gallant pictures and portraits. Above the bookshelf was mounts of stuffed animal heads, Chief Irons was famously known as a strong supporter of taxidermy, and was an expert taxidermist himself. The eyes of the stuffed game followed her while she examined the office.

The body of a young blonde woman in white was laid on the Chief's desk. A suckling gunshot to the heart was present on her chest; she was killed instantly recently, there was nothing that could be done to help her now. Claire peeked over the woman's body and someone in the brown leather swivel chair rotated around and faced her. It was a large man in his mid forties, shifty eyes and a thick moustache. He had her in the sights of his Desert Eagle for some time before is lowered his aim and relaxed.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, ma'am. I thought you another one of those zombies," he said with forced politeness. It was hard to tell if he was speaking honest or playing a charade.

"Chief Irons? What happened here?"

"How should I know?" He waved his magnum around dangerously. "Some wretched virus contaminated the city and now it's full of monsters. There's no more to say than that."

"No, the woman… Did you kill her?"

"Oh… I had no choice." He and Claire examined the woman's body. "That's Mayor Warren's daughter. I was told to look after her, but I failed miserably. She was a real thing of beauty. Skin nothing short of perfect. Elegant figure. Such a waste of a beautiful person. When the infection hit the department, it was only a matter of time before she turned within the hour, like all the others."

"There must be some way to stop this."

"Destroying the brain is the only way to put those poor souls to rest, or whatever gets the job done.

"Still... It's nice to see another living human around here."

"Another?" he mused to himself, rubbing his chin, thinking about something. "For a minute I swore I'm the only one alive in the department. Tell me… who else is alive here? Do you know?"

"There's me, Leon Kennedy, Annette Parker and a little girl. Marvin Bra…" She choked, couldn't pronounce his name right. "Sergeant Marvin he… he turned. That's all I know."

"I liked Sergeant Branagh. He was one of the good ones."

She waved her hand naively. "What the hell is going on around here?"

"I cannot make certain accusations right now. This is a terrible situation to indeed..."

"Things get worse before they get better." She uttered lightly, "They have to..."

"Before you bore me with your problems I have to ask you to leave my office. I have other matters to attend to..." Brian rotated in his leather chair, slowly away from Claire and stared his weary eyes towards the large wooden cabinet. He frowned heavily. Claire caught his eyes peering on the vast selection of stuffed animal trophies and prestigious badges and photo frames. There was a slight glisten in his old eyes. "And to think taxidermy used to be my favourite hobby..."

Miss Parker was cold. The R.P.D. underground parking lot was dank, that was where she was secluded to, alone and scared. She had to get to the kennels; it was all down to her to get the hatch in there open. The large blue SWAT van parked directly in front of the door towards the holding cells and kennels was unaccounted for, however.

The lot was dark. Broken and otherwise inactive police cruisers were parked and elevated without care all along the sides of the lot. None were operational. A SWAT van was left right in front of the door. Blocking her escape route.

There was no point trying to move it, she was only a small woman, but she had to try. All that could really be done was to press all of her little weight into the boot of the van and park it correctly. Even that failed. She pressed her back up against it and recoiled back as hard as she could. Barely moved it an inch.

The stone floor was damp, Annette's shoes couldn't get the grip she needed to move the van. From this fruitless endeavour, she gave up, and just sat down up against the van. From contact with the cold ground, her backside was almost drenched with mucky water the formed puddles and patches all over. The cracks in the ceiling were dripping something on her shoulder; she hoped it was water.

She was too weak. The radio in the pouch of her vest was picking up nothing but static, there wasn't any signal underground, or maybe it was a matter of range. She sighed and rubbed her chest from the inside of her vest; it wasn't built for warmth. She was cold. She crossed her legs and rubbed her triceps, using the friction to heat up her bare arms. She could feel the goosebumps.

Sound was softening; sight was fading… She was tired. Hadn't slept for days. Tired. Annette rested her eyes. Suddenly, a gunshot from close by ricocheted at the ground, against the wall and ending in the ceiling. Her eyes shot open, wide awake. It was Leon and another woman. The woman held Leon at gunpoint but slowly withdrew her handgun.

When the woman in red lowered her arm, she took the chance to examine her further. She was Asian-American. Good looking. Early twenties. She was good looking. She did realise that Leon was human, but it took longer than a regular person would. If she wanted to, she would easily mistake him and Annette as a zombie. That wouldn't end well.

"Sorry about that," the woman said. "After I saw that uniform I almost assumed you for another one of those zombies."

"You still shot at me!" Leon bellowed.

"If I didn't take the shot I would never have known you were human."

"Right… and you are?"

"Ada Wong," Ada said.

"And what are you doing here?"

"Not standing around quizzing people. That's for sure. Is this any way to treat a lady, Officer?"

Leon blushed. "No."

"Do you know where I can find a guy named Ben Bertolucci? He's one of those snoopy reporters. I'm looking for him."

"Sorry. It's my first day." Ada looked around the lot. Mainly around the ceiling and walls. To Leon, there wasn't anything important. "What are you doing here?"

"Ben has information about the city's crisis."

"What kind of information?"

"Not sure. But that's something I want to find out."

Annette raised back on her feet, used the van to hold to help her up. Still tired, despite the short rest she had. After a grunt caught the attention of both Leon and Ada, she now was in both of their sights. Annette didn't care; she only wanted the damned van out of the way. "You both quite done over there? I could use a hand."

Leon lowered his aim, followed by Ada. She glared at Annette. "Are you a member of S.T.A.R.S.?" Leon queried.

"I wish," Annette sighed. "You must be the new guy. Leon is it?"

"Yeah, I'm the new guy. It's nice to see another officer. What's your name?"

"Annette." She peered over to stare at Ada. She was still glaring back at her. Annette couldn't understand why but it left her wondering if she gave off the wrong impression. "I overheard you two. Ada Wong. Right?"

"Depends on who's asking..."

"Sergeant Parker's asking," Annette said, prodding her chest. "If both of you help me move this van out of the way that would be great."

"Why?"

"I need to get to the kennels. It's our only way out of here, and it would free up the holding cells. That's where you can find Mr Bertolucci. Would you kindly help me move it?"

Leon sighed and stood by to Annette to help her move the van. The vehicle still felt like a tonne of bricks, better describes as pushing a solid brick wall. Still, the wall had wheels, so the two were able to budge it out of the rut in the ground eventually. The van has been immobile for months.

Ada folded her arms. "I'm sorry but who are you? This is no place for children."

"Who are you calling a child? I'm a sergeant. I deserve _some_ respect, ma'am."

Ada scoffed to Annette's forced big talk and walked straight towards the holding cells through the open door. She ignored any sounds and comments from Leon and Annette because she earned some from just barging through the two past the door.

"What's with her?" Annette muttered.

"Annette, come on." Leon stood quickly behind Ada and caught her attention. She stopped. "I know we don't know each other but there are only a handful of us left alive. We need to work together."

Annette hushed Leon and Ada. "Does anyone hear that?" she whispered.

Suddenly, there was a thundering crumble, of what sounded like a collapsing ceiling or a brick wall. Heard by everyone. Then the rattling and stretching of metal bars. It echoed in the stone corridor. Shortly after, there was a faint sound of cries and pleading. It sounded human and came from the holding cells.

After a bellowing cry, Ada and Annette made slow movements towards the cells but then there were heavy footsteps, coming for them. Ada stopped round a corner and followed Annette when she dialled back to Leon around the corner by the door behind them and waited in silence.

"Something is coming this way," Leon whispered.

Prowling around with heavy footsteps was a monster of eight feet in height. It was almost human-like from the torn bloodied white coat and brown trousers, but from the large claws on the oversized right arm, it was a mutant of sorts. The only way to describe it was the word monster, even if it sounded crazy. The three were far beyond that. Fresh blood dripped from its talons.

Annette caught a glimpse of the monster's exposed heart when she peered around the corner like a child. It grumbled like a monster from her dreams. She was about to scream, "What the FU-" Leon placed his hand over Annette's mouth before she could finish. They couldn't afford that.

"It's okay," Ada whispered, "it doesn't know we're here." A door around the corner opened then the footsteps slowly faded away. "I think it's gone."

Annette began to muffle loudly. Leon had let go of her mouth. "What the hell was that?" Annette breathed.

"I don't know."

"What about you?" Annette growled to Ada. "Do you know anything?"

"Huh? No. This is new to me. That crying, though… Sounded like Ben."

Leon moved from the corner and headed for the cells. "We need to check it out. Come on."

Leon followed the faint droplets of blood into the holding cells. There were two cells inside. One was open, and the other was torn wide open. The iron bars were ripped from every hold and hinge. Inside was the lifeless body of a man in his mid thirties with a ponytail and dressed in business casual clothes. Bloodied and empty. His chest was ruptured and torn at with sharp claws. This reporter's story was can cancelled.

"Oh… God..." Annette muttered. "It's Ben."

"There was nothing we could've done," Ada added.

Leon leant up against the wall opposite Ben and folded his arms. "This is a disaster," he declared. Annette noticed scribblings on the wall behind Leon and moved him away. "What is it?"

"There's something on the wall." Annette began to read from the stone wall. The faint scribblings of a dead man, marked with permanent marker. "'With no hope of survival, I write in hopes that someone will be able to use this information. The beasts everywhere… I can hear them in the darkness as I wait… for release. The Chief is the one responsible. He conspired with the Umbrella Corporation…'" Annette sighed, "Ben…"

"That sounded dreadful," Leon added.

"He must be talking about the Police Department's involvement with the pharmaceutical giant Umbrella."

"Look at this," Leon pointed to a sentence in the wall's scribblings with his handgun. "The part about the station and the lower lab being connected by the sewer," Leon revised. "If we can get access to the sewer we can get outta here."

"That would be the manhole in the kennels."

Leon turned to Annette and looked over to Ada behind her. She was missing. "Huh? Where'd she go?"

"Who?" Annette turned around to see Ada missing too. "Ada?" She turned all over furiously flailing her arms slightly. "She was just here."

Leon stepped out of Ben's cell and looked both ways to see no one. "Ada!" he called. He and Annette walked to the kennels. "How long have you worked here, Annette?"

"Nearly two years. Why?"

"Do you know anything about the involvement of the police and Umbrella?"

Annette stopped outside the kennels. "No, I do not. Listen here. I don't know anything about what Ben wrote on the walls. I'm just a sergeant; I'm not that high up from you. That's something only the veterans or captains would know about." She snapped, "And if you hadn't noticed they're all dead."

"Jeez, sorry. Thanks anyway."

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I've been lost for quite a while now. Up until I met you I honestly thought I was the only officer alive-"

"Likewise," he interrupted.

"Still… I'm scared."

"Could have fooled me."

Annette chuckled. "Projecting force and standing firm is the only thing I can do to seem tough. It's all I've been doing since the R.P.D. was wiped out. I needed to be strong to carry on their duty… and memories."

"Who told you that?"

"Captain Wesker. The good one. He was my teacher… my idol."

Leon held Annette shoulders with both hands and stared into her stressed green eyes. They glistened brightly, the only light Leon could see past the darkness of the corridor. "We're gonna be fine, Annette. You hear me? We'll make it through this."

"Positive thoughts are the only thing that can keep me going."

"Let's go find this manhole." Leon let go of Annette and stepped into the kennels.

A dark, depressing room. It stank of rotting dog meat, both the food and the animal. Annette liked dogs, especially the R.P.D.'s. Their breed of Doberman were lovely additions to the force, but when the infection hit they were the first ones to get infected. Luckily they were the first ones to be put out of their misery. Annette felt like she should cry. Her eyes felt too dry to do so, cried enough over that last few days anyway.

Annette knelt down to an open utility hole. One that was sealed tightly recently. "This was sealed last I checked."

"Let's go, then."

"Wait, Leon," she said, standing arms folded, "If Ada passed through here why did she go alone?"

"She just wants to get out of here. She might need our help."

"Men… always so eager to help."

Leon scoffed, "Women..."

"Someone needs to stay here and wait for Claire. I'll call her radio while you find Ada."

"That sounds like a plan. Later." Leon took hold of the ladder down and descended into the odourless sewers.

"Be careful, Leon," she whispered. Annette holstered her handgun and took out her R.P.D. radio, it was roughed up but still worked when there wasn't any static. She called Claire.

Finally, a voice picked up. It was Claire. "Hello?"

"Claire, it's Annette. I'm at the kennels waiting for you."

"Is Leon there?"

"Just missed him. We found another survivor, Ada Wong. He went into the sewers to find her when she disappeared. Have you found that little girl?"

"I found the girl, but we got separated recently. I still need to find her."

"Okay. I'll wait for you here. Then we can regroup with Leon and Ada."

"Sounds good. I'll see you soon." Claire disconnects from her side of the radio.

Annette squatted down to the manhole and looked down below. The fumes of the sewage were minimal, and it was almost pitch black. Thinking over the estimated time for Claire to arrive, Annette looped it over in her mind for too long. It was the only way out of the city. Leaving the condemned R.P.D. was worse than taking a risk at leaving the city alive, some risks were worth it. She sat by the manhole for some time and tried to stay warm by rubbing her arms. The day was cold since the early morning. Then there was a big hand wrapped around her mouth, and a prick in her neck. It was cloudy, and her body collapsed.


	5. Enter Dr Wesker

_Dorian Savage never liked working with people, always a loner at heart. He just never played well with others, after all, work wasn't working when it was in any way enjoyable. Find a job you love, and you'll never work a day in your life._

 _Of course, he loved his job. Umbrella always gave him everything he desired; they'd often reward him and his actions, and with full merit. He was the corporation's future of B.O.W. engineering. He deserves no less._

 _He didn't mind that. He knew he wasn't human, he, in fact, praised his origins of being manufactured in a lab along with fifteenth others. Project S, he thinks it was called. Project Savage. Being the one and only general of Umbrella's Security Service, he had many teams and groups to supervise and set an example to._

 _This one human, though, Derek C. Simmons… He was hired by the last living founder to act as his assistant or deputy director; he would always fill in for Lord Spencer and speak for him during meetings and conferences._

 _Lord Spencer keeps his location hidden indefinitely to everyone. No one knew why he'd seclude himself for as long as rumours suggest. Was it because of the dire situation that is Operation: Raccoon City? Or was it something or someone from his past. A man his age and legacy is bound to have some enemies or some skeletons in the closet._

 _Dorian would sooner gut humans than to work for them, the only exception being his creator Spencer himself. The idea of tearing off Simmons' head and drinking from his bloody stump faded after they got to talking about something as casual as sports and music. Loved his Man Utd and hard metal._

 _Into the conversation, Dorian learned that Simmons is not that much different than he is, personality wise. Hearing his other employer's plans for Umbrella through Simmons made Dorian want to stay in his good graces by any means necessary just in case something happens to Umbrella's future._

 _He obeyed every word from Lord Spencer without question, but Simmons' employer knew what he was doing, and if old Spencer got in the way, someone would rise and sit upon his throne and relieve him of his duties. Like Simmons, he was that ambitious if it was required._

 _Lord Spencer isn't at all hopeless; he meant well, but Dorian still listened to Simmons' employer's plans fully. If they checked out, it might be a better job opportunity to switch employers. That was unlikely at the moment._

Chief Irons was gone. Irons and the body of Warren's daughter was missing. Claire was only gone for a few minutes, only to return to the emptiness of his boring office. An office filled with stuffed animals that almost looked real. Their eyes were hard to avoid. They still followed Claire's movements.

Looking further into his office, Claire found a passage leading to a trophy room, wasn't hidden well from the naked eye, just behind an ordinary wooden door. The display room behind was filled with more tasteless trophies and awards. The full suits of medieval armour were new. Stood firm and watched over Claire.

In the back room near the fireplace, the girl was hunched over close to the burning flame. There was a terrible draft in the room; it made sense to bask in the heat generated by the freshly-lit fireplace. The girl tried to run away again upon the first glance, but Claire reached out for her. She snatched her little hand.

"Please stay still. I'm not gonna hurt you," Claire quickly said. Any slower and the girl would make another runner. They both took risks trusting each other. They both came to the right idea. Claire let go of the girl, and she stayed where she was. "Do I look like a monster to you?" Claire asked, warmly. Kneeling down to her height level. "My name's Claire. What's your name?"

The girl stood unsurely and held her little hands close to her chest. "Sherry..." she uttered. She tried to walk away. It looked like she was breaking into another run.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

Sherry stopped and looked back to Claire. She was still holding something close to her chest. Something around her neck. "My mommy's and daddy's lab is in the basement. I'm trying to find it."

"You can't go alone. I'm coming with you."

Sherry led Claire back into Irons' office. Around the corner, through the door, there was a man in white rifling through Irons' desk and bookshelf. He smelt of sweat and dry blood.

Behind the foul hygiene lies an intellectual blond man with reflective spectacles. He was in his mid-twenties; his hair was unkempt, his face was strained. He was focusing so hard on what he was doing he didn't notice Sherry and Claire coming through the door behind him.

"Scott!" Sherry cried with joy. Startling Scott so much he turned around to reach for his handgun that laid on Irons' desk. He moved too fast, he fumbled and accidentally nudged it off onto the floor.

Scott forced a smile that became genuine. "Sherry!" He opened his arms for Sherry to launch herself into. The warmth of their hug lasted longer than most. The hug of a parental figure is all she needed to soldier on. She craved the parental love.

"Scott?"

Scott made eye contact with Claire. "Claire Redfield?" He then let Sherry back on her feet and straightened his crooked back upright to give her a handshake. "Claire, Claire, Claire," he said, "it's so good to see you." He smelt worse up close. It was evident. "What are you doing here in Chief Irons' office?"

"Right now I'm just trying to survive. You?"

"I was looking for Sherry, but my curiosity in Irons' affairs caught my eye. I have reason to believe that he intentionally crippled the R.P.D. Apart from that I only just got here." He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes were strained and had some bags under them. "This is terrible." He yawned.

"You're tired?"

"Very… but I ain't got time to sleep. Don't know how Zaac does it..."

Claire reached out for Scott. "About Zaac..."

"I know." Scott groaned. "Please God, I don't want to hear it again." He scratched his back. "I couldn't believe it after I read it but… I… I always thought I was missing something crucial. In the end, the proof's in the puddin'. He's gone..."

Claire retracted her arm, and her eyes slowly peered down to her feet. "I'm sorry."

"He deserved better than that." Scott threw his hand up in frustration and turned away from Claire in a huff, arms on his sides. He quietly sobbed but stopped. "First father dies a monster and now my brother's gone... Now it's all on me to take care of the family. Don't know how I can do this..."

"Scott, come on. I miss him too, but we need to focus on here and now. Okay?"

"Okay." He sighed. Sherry picked up his Browning HP and presented it to Scott to grasp. He kissed her cheek. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"How do you know each other?" Claire asked.

"We have a sibling relationship," he said, brushing Sherry's hair. "Since I work in close collaboration with her parents."

"I never knew."

"No one ever asks. Her parents trust me to care for her, they know I keep her best interests above mine." He leant on Irons' desk. "They've been so busy lately they laid me off to keep her safe. I wasn't expecting the R.P.D. to fall apart so soon, though."

"No disrespect intended Scott, but Sherry has been running up and down the R.P.D. all alone. Where have you been all this time?"

"There's more to this department than you think. It's excruciatingly hard to find a small girl among a dead department. Barely got out of the Chemical Plant alive, been stuck down there for days." He sighed. "The R.P.D. was still thriving with some scraps of life. My fiancée was here along with several others. I had time."

"Didn't you know? Most of the R.P.D. was wiped out on the High Street last Wednesday. The department fell apart recently after that."

"Partially, Irons' fault, no doubt."

"Scott, now that you're here can you help me find my parents?" Sherry begged. "Please? I need to find them."

"Of course, honey. I need to keep you somewhere safe, though. So please stay close to me."

"Is Sherry's parent's lab nearby?"

"There's a shortcut close by. Behind Irons' desk."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Leads straight to the Chemical Plant. Worked there for six years now, I know a few tricks here and there." There was an awkward glare coming from Claire, and the silence was, almost worst tenfold. "Wait. You're not thinking about going down there, are you?"

"I am now. Might be a way out of the city. Is that a problem?"

Scott puffed out his chest. It wasn't impressive. "As an employee, I'd be authorised not to allow that to happen. It's a shame I handed in my notice. There is a way out down there, yes, and we will take it at the earliest convenience. I'm just not sure if the danger is worth the risk."

"You scared?"

"Terrified. I did a lot of… questionable things to get out of there alive and now I'm coming back down."

"I'll take care of you."

"I'm a grown man, Claire. I'm only going because I can't let you and Sherry go down there alone."

"Lead the way tough guy; I'll be right behind you."


	6. Irons' decent into insanity

_Today was a good day. He may have killed his old plaything a less than an hour ago, but now he has a new one. The spectacular sight of the mayor's daughter cowering in fear before he shot her was invigorating, not as exquisite as that other officer days ago but it fuelled the hopelessness and insanity that is Brian Irons._

 _All of his toys would naturally get lost from their owner. The times he spent hunting them down like cattle and snuffing out their pathetic lives was a job that needed to be done. Why should the prey live without fulfilling their duty? Their purpose to bring excitement and satisfaction to their hunter. That is the purpose of being the prey._

 _Irons' new toy was a woman in her late-teens. Younger and much smaller than the mayor's daughter. She wasn't a challenge; she was far too easy to be considered true sport. There was still space in his office for another stuffed trophy._

 _Considering she'd be easier and lighter to hang up on the wall than a full-sized woman, she'd be the first person to be stuffed and mounted to decorate his office with. Could always hang up the mayor's daughter later in the day. This time he wanted his first to be a younger and more fitting specimen. Then the prey woke up…_

 _The woman couldn't speak, her mouth was gagged with a blood-red cloth. Tasted bitter and stale. She looked up high at the cracks of the weathered, cobblestone ceiling. There was moss forming in between the brick formation. Through that rotten green muck, something dripped through the open gaps close to her head. She couldn't hear anything past the dripping._

 _Her limbs were held down with leather straps, arms above her still head with legs spread apart. He head was held still by a vice. She was on some sort of wooden rack, with restraints strong enough to hold a man four times her size. It was so tight her flesh bulged over and under the straps. Could still breathe but the tightness left a horrible impression._

 _Salty tears were the only thing keeping her warm; there was a terrible draft escaping from the cracks and gaps in the walls and ceiling. It was no surprise that she was crying. The rag in her mouth made her sound as pathetic as she seems, muffled and distressed. Irons' slammed his hands down on the bench she was on, close by to her ears and stared down at her._

"Oh good, you're finally awake," he said with false surprise. "I feared the dosage might have been too much for a young woman like you. It would be no fun if you were unconscious the whole time." The woman could only moan in response. "There's no joy in my work if I cannot hear your screams." He ungagged the poor woman's mouth, and immediately she gasped for air. Engorging her tiny lungs by the mouthful.

"Irons, what are you doing?!" she whimpered.

"I know you're scared, Miss Parker. You should be."

"What are you doing!?" she cried, "Let me go!"

Irons slammed and wedged a surgical scalpel where his right hand previously was. "Don't be scared, Sergeant. You know what you signed up for when you became a cop." He picked up the scalpel and paced slowly around the room, stopping until he was right by Annette's right side. "You shouldn't worry, though… I'm not going to kill you… I'm just going to hurt you really, _really_ bad." He pressed the scalpel against the flesh above her left eyebrow.

"Why?" She sobbed. Heavy tears flowed down her cheeks, drowning her hair. "What have I done to deserve this?" she stuttered.

"You survived…" He gagged Annette's mouth with the same rag, muffling her voice but not her emotional screams. "I would be lying if I said this wasn't going to hurt because it's going to hurt a lot."

The real reason Irons didn't use any form of anaesthetic is purely of the fact he would never use it, and there would be no fun in carving up his prey if he couldn't hear their cries of agony while he worked on them.

Irons cut down Annette's eyebrow with his scalpel, skipping past her left eye. She could see the sharpness of the blade as it passed over out of her view, during the intense moment of her screams as it finished at the bottom of her cheek. Cutting down.

The one time she paused, she caught a glimpse of the edge, it wasn't sterilised for surgical use. "The truly tragic thing about all this is that I'm the only one enjoying it." Irons pressed the tip of the scalpel to Annette's other eyebrow and cut through her tender skin, drawing droplets of her blood over his hand. Her cries were relentless. "Scream all you want, Sergeant. It just makes the moment more exquisite, and all the more satisfying. Not like anyone will hear you..."

Irons was just forcing the pain out of Annette. He made surgical marks over her face, constantly complimenting her on her soft, youthful skin. Some of which was stained with blood after fresh incisions underwent. Her cries and fidgeting hardly delayed the inevitable. That was two fresh incisions that were far too close to the eye.

Her S.T.A.R.S. vest was unzipped, her white blouse was ripped open, exposing her quivering bare torso. Her flesh quaked under Irons' lightest touches. He felt up her entire torso with one movement of his free hand, up to down. She hoped he was more interested in making her an art piece than making her do something she wanted no part of. Was he always like this before psychiatric evaluation? A rapist and sadist? He'd seem so.

Annette wasn't enjoying the pain Irons was inflicting, not hard to understand why. Irons felt offended. "I cannot enjoy my work if the subject isn't willing," Irons stated. "This is a marvel in taxidermy and the moment should not be taken lightly because of something so trivial as pain. Something so insignificant should be let out for the artist to hear, to further value the masterpiece."

Irons made a remark about the lack of encouragement. Since she was being disobedient he'd have to force her to _smile_. A quick incision over the lips and cheeks should fix that. He started with a small slit, then a rip.

Annette's flesh that held her jaw was torn as far as it could. Iron's hand held her mouth in place, not only she couldn't talk or scream, she couldn't breathe and had the horrible taste of her own blood in her mouth. Tore through the muscles and nerves like paper. He forever cut a _smile_ on her face.

After that, he carved down her torso. Starting from below her ribs and breasts, he slowly cut down towards her bellybutton. He could've done it a whole lot faster but decided to do it slowly, just to hear her screams of pain. The fingers of his rubber gloves were almost fully stained with her blood. He slit her all the way downwards like a zipper.

"This is excruciating. If only you could speak right now, you'd be screaming like there was no tomorrow." She screamed which only came out as a muffle. "Begging me to stop. I'd like that." He chuckled. "But there is only so much a person can take before it's considered a distraction to what I call a masterpiece in the making..."

Annette couldn't breathe. Couldn't bear to see her own body being whittled away, the brain can't handle seeing the body with all the gore. She didn't dare to do anything to entice her blood to circulate.

Blood seeped from her brows and cheek. Torrents flowed freely from her torso. The pulsation wouldn't stop, her body was in shock. She did everything she could not to breathe. Irons insisted her to stay quiet, jokes aside he craved her agony.

When a gunshot was heard outside the door, the door's lock and handle from Irons' side broke off, thus opening the door. It wasn't in any way unheard of. Irons pulled out his magnum handgun from his holster and took aim for whoever walked through the rotted oak door.

Barging through it was Scott, Claire and Sherry. What a predicament was for Irons. With him holding the two at gunpoint first, Scott and Claire weren't able to pull out their handguns, without the fear of getting shot by a now deranged police chief.

"Why must you civilians always show up where you're clearly not wanted?" Irons grumbled.

Scott made slow movements in front of Sherry, in case Irons tried to interact with her. "Irons? What are you doing!?" he shouted.

"What's it to you, Doctor?!" Irons barked in response.

"Annette!" Claire shrieked, covering her mouth with horrid shock. Annette was barely conscious. "What are you doing to her, Irons?!"

"I have nothing to say! You're the ones prowling around wherever you please, intruding on me and my work!"

"Intruding? We're just trying to get the hell out of here!"

"No, you're not!" Irons walked towards Claire but stopped to gouge his scalpel into Annette's right thigh. She screamed that was just a mere muffle. "Don't lie to me! You're after G aren't you?"

"G?" Claire mused to herself, oblivious to the situation momentarily.

"Don't play dumb with me, girl!" Irons snapped harshly. "Why else are you here with Doctor Wesker? Huh?!" His eyes drifted away from Claire and rolled over to Sherry. "Hey… Aren't you Doctor Birkin's-"

Scott went to pull out his handgun, but Irons wasn't nearly distracted enough to take the first shot at him. A .44 magnum slug went off and pierced clean through Scott's left shoulder and struck the wall behind. He dropped his Browning.

Sherry cried, and Claire pulled out her new Colt S.A.A. and fired off two shots quickly at Irons' chest. The quickness and power of the single-action revolver put Irons down on his back, presumably dead.

It was hard for Claire to decide on who to help first. Couldn't avoid the fact that Annette's wounds looked far worse than Scott's; she was bleeding heavily on the rack. Scott wasn't. Claire ripped out the scalpel and ungagged her as soon as Scott got back on his feet. Claire couldn't do anything beyond that. The wounds were beyond her basic first aid. All that was left was the leather straps.

"Claire..." Annette breathed.

"Don't talk… We need to stop the bleeding." Easier said than done; there was already a pool forming around the incision on Annette's stomach and by her neck area. Claire started to panic while she unstrapped Annette's limbs. "I don't know what to do..."

Scott heaved his body back on his feet to see the commotion by Claire. "I'm all right…" he grunted. "What's happening-"

"Scott, she needs help!"

"Oh?"

"Can you help her?"

"Please…" Annette added, with severe weakness in her tone, "help me..."

Scott adjusted his spectacles. "I-I'm not sure if I can do anything," he admitted. "This isn't a place for surgery..."

"Surgery?!" Annette wailed. It's not a favourite word of hers.

"This woman needs surgery! And don't have the tools to do much." Annette began to cry, holding the pain in her gut. "Unless..."

"Come on Scott; you can do it," Sherry cheered. "You can do anything." Scott focused his eyes on her cheering and positive nature.

"Surgery though? Under these conditions? I'll do what I can." Scott walked to a wooden cabinet holding unmarked chemicals and crude surgical tools. He held his chin. "Hmmm…" He took out an unmarked jar containing a blue liquid. "Damn. This won't do. All these are made by Umbrella, and none of them can substitute for a local anaesthetic-"

Cowering in silence, Brian Irons took out Scott's legs with one sweep of his strong right arm. Scott tumbled to the floor and landed right on his left shoulder. The suckling bullet wound hurt even more. Irons stood up and put Claire back in the sights of his magnum handgun. Even with two bullets in his chest flowing with blood, he was foaming at the mouth with too much adrenaline to lay down and simply play dead.

"If you think that'll be enough to kill me you're bloody wrong!" Irons snapped. He grunted and clutched his chest with his free hand. "You'll die here before you get G! You'll all die in this town along with the rest of us!"

There was a hatch behind Irons. A fleshy purple tentacle protruded through the wooden cover and sought out for the closest person within reach. It was Irons… The tentacle lashed around Irons' right ankle and dragged him to the floor. His screams and cries were futile when he was forcibly pulled down the hatch and out of sight.

Scott heaved himself on his hands and knees, watching and listening in horror as Irons' screams were still heard distinctly, along with several gunshots. Less than ten seconds later silence followed.

"Oh my God..." Claire whispered to herself.

"I don't even want to know what's down there," Scott whispered. He signalled Claire to help him up on his feet and promptly dusted himself off quietly. "It's a good thing that bullet passed through me. Otherwise, that would've hurt a lot more than it should."

"What's G?"

"No clue..." Scott resumed his investigation of the unmarked chemicals inside the wooden cabinet.

Claire rushed over to Annette and comforted her. She was still conscious but the blood forming around her gut refused to stop. "Scott's here to help you, Annette," she said. "You'll be fine..."

"I-I don't want to d-die like this, Claire..." she stuttered.

"Like what honey? This is nothing. Just a flesh wound."

"Not the wound… Just… Not like this… Listen… I may talk big…" Annette still breathed, "dying for my colleagues… friends and all that… But… I-I'm still too scared to die..."

Claire frowned sympathetically. "Annette…"

"I can't go like this… Unfulfilled… Single… Unloved." She retracted her right hand to see her whole palm stained red with her warm blood. "A virgin..."

"Oh…?"

"Captain Zaac has you… you have him and that doctor over there..." Claire's view drifted at Scott, who was furiously rummaging the wooden cabinet for any anaesthetic. He was constantly grumbling. "He looks like a fatherly figure… a supportive one. Someone I long for..."

"Like Zaac…?"

Annette nodded. "Like him, yes… We all have our heroes… Even in a situation like this… you should be glad to have had him at your side. Because when I look around… there's no one standing by me anymore."

"Scott, what's going on over there?" Claire called.

Scott turned around to Claire and stood over Annette with a green chemical. Is was a thin liquid, sloshing around in an unmarked jar. "I got something I can use as an anaesthetic."

"Are you sure?"

Scott shrugged. "I have faith it _might_ work. Since there's no way to sample them, I'll have to go in there and find out."

"Is that wise, Scott?"

"Not entirely, but it's necessary. Neither of us has the luxury of time so… if you don't mind, I have a deadline to meet. This could take a while, though."

"How long, Scott?"

"A few hours at the most..."

"You're kidding..."

"...is what I would say if I didn't have any first-aid." Scott took out a small green med-pak from his hip, one hidden under his fading white lab coat. He unzipped the bag and equipped himself with rubber gloves and an absorbent tissue cloth. "A good doctor always carries first-aid."

"Will it be enough to help her?"

"Only one way to find out. It might take an hour or less." Scott began to rearrange Annette's body and limbs to his preference, placing her in the form of a still log while he cleaned up the small pool of blood over her stomach with the tissue cloth.

"Really?"

"Can't rush perfection, Claire. This isn't exactly the best place for surgery."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"I suggest you give me time and carry on without me, Claire."

Claire folded her arms in disagreement. "Why?"

"Unless you want to wait for me and be my operating assistant I suggest you make your way to the Chemical Plant and find a safe room and Sherry's parents..."

"I don't see-"

"Claire… Someone needs to find Sherry's parents and a way out of the city."

"But that's your department."

"Fine," he huffed. "I guess you can operate-"

Claire stopped Scott's next word dead in the tracks with a quick wave. "Alright, alright. I'll go. But what about Sherry?"

"What about me?" Sherry asked.

"Coming or going," he replied. He adjusted his spectacles. "You wanna go with Claire or do you want to stay with me?"

"I'm coming."

"Okay honey, you can go with me. Just please stay close."

"I will Claire."

Claire stood by the wooden hatch in the ground with Sherry and opened it slowly. There was nothing but silence down past the iron ladder. The hazy wind brushed past her legs. She took a few steps down the ladder and stopped. "Are you sure you'll be okay, Scott?"

The wound in Scott's shoulder flared up. He grunted in response. "I'll be okay," he said, "I'm just gonna inject her."

"I'll see you soon then." Claire descended the ladder alone. Sherry stood naively with her hands close to her chest. She stared at Scott, who was just finished cleaning up Annette's blood formation.

"Go on sweetheart. Claire will take care of you."

"But Scott I only just got you back..."

"You're in good hands, Sherry. But I'm needed here." Sherry nodded and went down the ladder after Claire. Scott sighed and went back into his med-pak. It was disorganised and almost empty of essentials. Only a few bandages, morphine shots and dry patches were left. And a brand new surgical suture. Just what he wanted.

"My eyebrows are flaring up..." Annette mumbled.

"That's good. Think about that while I look for something to seal the wound." He took out some surgical suture, the needle and twine along with an empty syringe. The green chemical sat on the rack for his use. He took out a large dosage from the jar.

"What's in that?"

"Something to ease the pain ma'am. It's not as good as anaesthetic, so please let me know if I'm hurting you."

"Annette…" she breathed, "call me… Annette."

Scott nodded and injected the chemical into Annette's swan-like neck. Her body tensed up before becoming completely relaxed and still. "It's a good thing most of the junk here are made by Umbrella; I know how to use all this equipment, yet they didn't have the decency to label the jars here."

Annette's tone of voice was painless and relaxed. Sounded like she was just tired, despite having her gut quivering open for her muscle tissue to see the light of day. "Thank you..." she breathed with relief. "I hope it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, it isn't ma'am. This is what I'm trained for. How are you feeling? Numb?"

"A bit."

"That will have to do."

"You're a good man, Doctor," she uttered.

Scott looped the twine through the needle's eye and pulled out a generous amount of length for it to be used. He hesitated to get started after musing to himself for a few seconds. "If you get to know me more you'll find out how wrong you truly are."

"Still… you're doing a good job. You're good in my books… People like me can't stand blood. How do you do it? It looks so hard."

"It isn't for everyone." Scott started to stitch up Annette's gut wound with the surgical suture. It was no different than fixing the button of a shirt or a combination of two patches of fabrics. He brought both sides of her tender skin together perfectly. "I have a gift to give to the world. A gift others took advantage of."

"It's amazing." She watched Scott stitch up her torso's skin like he was sewing a pair of old trousers. Slow it was, the effort really was nothing short of perfection. Perfect accuracy and hardly noticeable due to the material of the thread. Hardly any gaps or blood. "I can watch you work without any hesitation."

"Thanks to the miracle of the chemical CB-3, I think. A very potent anaesthetic, if you find the right one. Which reminds me..." Scott stopped working on Annette and took another dosage of the green liquid. With the cap on the syringe's needle, he tucked it away into his med-pak. "Might need that for later," he chuckled before getting back to work.

"Thanks for doing this, Doc. I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

"Hearing that from you feeds my soul. Hearing a simple thank you from people you help can go a long way. Moments like this makes me glad I left that thankless job during that time I was stuck in retail."

"Now here you are… Saving my life..."

Scott nodded and smiled. "That's quite a step. Not bad for a store manager reject."

"Tell me, Doctor… Are you seeing anyone? I owe the man who saved my life something."

Scott snickered. "I'm sorry… I don't think my fiancée would like that."

"Oh..."

"Tell you what. If we make it out of this, drinks are on me."

 _"Now_ _ _I'm__ _sorry. I don't drink, but tea would be nice. Do you have any_ _more_ _brothers or sisters?" Scott rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. She has no boundaries at all._


	7. Derek C Simmons' offer

_In an underground security centre, owned by Umbrella, deep below city hall, a secret operation was still in progress. Operation: Raccoon City. Derek C. Simmons took an elevator down into the lower levels alone, with only a folder in hand, he had new fresh orders for the U.S.S. under the authorisation of the director Oswell E. Spencer._

 _Derek had his expensive four-piece white suit on; he had a date with destiny he'd often remark, the vest and tie cost extra. He loved himself so, from his expensive taste. He brushed his light goatee with his fingers and was greeted with the sight of hard-working employees._

 _Monitors in a three by ten row took up the entire wall opposite the elevator, with thirty people watching them with their sharp eyes. All were inadequately dressed. That was something he'd be picky about._

 _In the centre was a podium, with an interactive map displayed on a table monitor. It was like a cross between a pool table and a computer terminal; the touch screen was a nice touch. Using it was a single person, with their back facing him. Everyone needed to acknowledge his presence, but General Savage didn't need to. He was one higher-up that Simmons liked, slightly less so than himself but still a fair amount._

 _Simmons stood by Dorian silently and awaited his acknowledgement by the young man. "Mr Simmons," Dorian greeted. "What can I do for you, sir?"_

 _"I'm here for a status update on the retrieval of Birkin's G-virus."_

 _"Not too good sir. Alpha Team has been wiped out by Birkin and HUNK isn't responding." Dorian was still collapsing and enlarging images from all over Raccoon City. They had a lot of cameras watching the city streets. None were particularly interesting, and each slide showed little difference. "I'm having difficulties bringing up the facility's CCTV back online. The Chemical Plant is a dead zone."_

 _"If there's any time to retrieve the G-virus it is now, General."_

 _"Sir… I have much to do down here as it is. You made your choice who to send-"_

 _"Lord Spencer made his choice," Simmons corrected._

 _"That he did, the matter of the fact is that he stood by it. I have affairs to attend to myself." He stood firmly and stretched his back and faced Simmons. "This matter could be easily discussed over the radio. Why are you here, sir?"_

 _"I am relieving you of your duties here. I'm taking over, and you have new orders..."_

 _"New orders?"_

 _"With the authorisation of Operation: Raccoon City, my employer needs a certain VIP personally evacuated out of the city."_

 _"Lord Spencer knows I don't do escort missions. I'll send Delta Team to-"_

 _"I have new orders for Delta Team. They're expendable. You're not."_

 _Dorian sighed. "What are the details of my mission?" Simmons smiled, far and wide greedily and handed Dorian a yellow folder. He opened it and quickly scanned it for keywords. He was disgusted. "This is bullshit!" he blurted. "You cannot be serious..."_

 _"These orders are from my employer-"_

 _"I don't care! I refuse to waste my time escorting this… human?!"_

 _Dorian threw the folder on the interactive map and the files and photos inside scattered all over the table. The photos were of a blond man in his late-twenties, light goatee and fine glasses. He didn't have a lab coat on, but he was a known researcher, and wore a beige suit at the time of the photos were taken. It was one person no one liked any more than a street urchin. He was a known bumbler and a groveler._

 _"Mr James is not worth my time."_

 _"My employer believes his service will bloom later on in the future," Simmons said, still smiling. "In a matter of time, his service will be highly valuable."_

 _Dorian poked Simmons' chest. Threatening him with his tone and flaring eyebrows. His eyes ran red with intense hatred through his reflective sunglasses. "I don't care who your employer is," he growled. "I serve Lord Spencer and so do you..." He swiped away the photos and files from the interactive map and went back to work. "These new orders are not our concern."_

 _Simmons went around behind Dorian's back and picked up the files scattered on the floor around him. Bent down and made his best efforts neatly organising them back. "You're harder to convince than I thought..."_

 _"Clearly..."_

 _"The future of the G-virus hinges on Mr James."_

 _"I have the best man on the job. When he brings Spencer the G-virus, we can afford to leave Mr James behind. Umbrella doesn't need him."_

 _"My employer offered him an evacuation-" Dorian pulled out his Browning HP and placed it next to him. He nudged it to Simmons._

 _"Evacuate him yourself."_

 _Simmons straightened his vest and dusted his shoulders. "I'm not going out there. T-virus infection is not a good look for me, bad for my complexion."_

 _"Well, you better call James and tell him there's been a change of plans then."_

 _"Master Romanov won't like that..." Simmons childishly mocked._

 _Dorian froze and rotated his body back to Simmons and lowered his sunglasses. "Romanov?" he gulped. "He's your employer?"_

 _"That's correct. He offered me a place as the new director, and to do that the old one needs to be… out of the picture. Master Romanov is offering you a better future too," Simmons said, while he inched in closer to Dorian. "A future with more money and satisfaction. Plus more opportunities in fieldwork. To get out of the office. Make some noise you'd say… All you have to do is get Mr James out of the city alive. That is all. Raccoon can go to hell for all we care."_

 _"What is so important about his survival?"_

 _"The future of B.O.W.s. One day in our careers we'll have the perfect supersoldiers to liberate this planet and all humanity, Mr James' ruthless demeanour is something that could aid our cause. Something of which you're interested in, are you not?"_

 _"How'd you-"_

 _"Everything Lord Spencer knows you can guarantee Master Romanov knows also."_

" _You're working for him? I didn't know Master Romanov was your_ other _employer. That makes sense. Lord Spencer hired you as his supposed advisor and deputy, though I get the impression Romanov's agenda is different than Lord Spencer's."_

" _Lord Spencer's not a fan of communism._ _What do you say?"_

" _How good is the money? And will I get enough Progenitor and Prototype virus?"_

 _Simmons raised his finger in certain recollection. "Ah, that's the beauty of it. In the future, Mr James will perform a tiny experiment that will guarantee infinite P and G-virus. The money will also rest in the six-figure monthly salary. Lord Spencer is a peasant in comparison to Romanov, and after some_ slight deductions _people like you and me will be set for life."_

 _"Damn," Dorian breathed. "That's almost double than what I'm getting now."_

 _"You must admit Umbrella's not long for this world. In the future, Neo-Umbrella will offer the same success rates with less human errors and more money for those truly deserving of it. Like you and me. One day B.O.W.s will work for us in the offices, and we'll get the rewards."_

 _"With the rumours, I heard of Master Romanov I cannot deny the experience he has over Lord Spencer. He's falling apart in comparison."_

 _"Who really has the power? The one with the money and experience or… Spencer, who has little of both? An answer, General?"_

 _Dorian mused to himself for a brief minute, stood still and hummed. Simmons waved the yellow file by him, mocking him. In time he snatched the file from Simmons' fingers and pushed his sunglasses back up to the top of the bridge of his nose._

 _"On one condition?"_

 _"Shoot."_

 _"Answer me this. Are you a mole?"_

 _"If it means my secret employer is purposely plotting against Umbrella, then yes I am. For the sake of our company's future, of course."_

 _"I'm not the best fan of Romanov's leadership, but money is money. I'll leave you with my duties, I'll evacuate Mr James, and we'll see where it goes from there."_

 _"Well enough. Mr James has already proved his use to me and is most likely still in the Research Facility."_

 _"Been a while since I made an entrance. I'll get the CCTV on manually, and if I can, I'll eliminate Birkin. Might get some fun out of it."_

 _"The coordinates of the evac locations are marked inside the folder, the ones Spencer placed and some exclusive ones."_

 _"Exclusive?"_

 _"There is a secret extraction for VIPs. Some of which that are important to Neo-Umbrella. It's only one chinook under the command of Bravo Team's captain."_

 _"Only one exclusive evacuation? One that Lord Spencer doesn't know about?"_

 _"Correct."_

 _Dorian quickly scanned a single paper inside the file. "This exclusive evacuation is stating that Captain Rodriguez is alive, but what about the team? I lost contact with them."_

 _"Not important. I made the good captain an offer to abandon his position and set up an extraction point for others like him, and people that will one day join Neo-Umbrella. Like you and Mr James."_

" _Defectors?"_

" _Naturally," Simmons sneered._

 _"Seems someone thought ahead… A secret gathering of defectors. Interesting... That's where I'll drop the baby off then."_

 _"I would highly recommend you do so. Lord Spencer's evacuations are a last resort. For my taste, not all thought out."_

 _"Is that why I lost contact with Bravo Team? Because of Captain Rodriguez?"_

 _"I convinced the captain to go AWOL," Simmons chuckled. "Sorry..."_

 _"You made me the same offer. I don't care. You don't get this far up the corporate ladder without a few expendable losses."_

 _"Do not fail Master Romanov's interests. He has high hopes and respects for you."_

 _"He'd be the first," Dorian sighed. "Umbrella is always grateful for my creation, and the possibilities of the further enhancement of B.O.W.s it brings but... but I never get any respect or praise as a higher being."_

 _"They don't see you as a person, only as property. That will change someday soon, General."_

Now I know how Alexis feels … _Dorian held the folder under his arm and lit a cigarette and started smoking it. Fouling the air around him. "Things were so much easier when Wesker was still alive. He should be the one here, not me. Even if we never saw eye to eye, we shared the same taste in spirits and he at least treated me as an equal."_

 _"He did have a lot of responsibilities; some Master Romanov was willing to pay for. Alas, he went the way of the Spencer mansion. Where would you be if he was here anyhow?"_

 _"Causing mass genocide on the city streets. It's no surprise that I enjoy killing, and being here is driving me insane." Dorian smoked again as a message popped up from one of the teams out on the streets. It was Delta Team, and they were on hold. "That's Delta Team. I'll let you answer it. I'm not here." Dorian rubbed out his cigarette and folded his arms to listen._

 _With bursts of gunfire surrounding the background, a woman was heard speaking. She was distressed. "Command, this is Wolfpack! We are pinned down, and destroying massive amounts of your precious B.O.W.s." The gunfire in the background was relentless. Now and then shrieking and snarling of horrid monsters would force itself in often. "It is your best interest to evacuate us immediately!"_

 _A gruff man spoke as distressed as the woman did. He sounded mean and cold. Gunfire noise aplenty in the background behind him. "Command, we need evacuation ASAP. Get us out of here!" He shouted, "Argh! Fuck you!" Then there was an explosion from his side._

 _Dorian and Simmons took short glares at one another, on who'd finally come up with something to say. Then the woman spoke again. "Command, if you're even listening, we need extraction immediately!"_

 _Simmons finally responded. He pressed down on the button from his side. "Delta Team, this is Derek Simmons, come in. Over."_

 _"Delta Team reporting," the woman grumbled._

 _"We've been impressed by your actions..."_

 _"We don't give a shit about-"_

 _Simmons carried on. Noting Wolfpack's remark. "...but it appears we were too quick to judge your unit… perhaps a little harsh. Therefore we have reluctantly agreed to your request for extraction. However to carry on your wish we need you to deal with two spies that have infiltrated our laboratory in the Underground Research Facility. Your new objective is to apprehend the spies and kill them. Transmitting coordinates..."_

 _"We demand you give us answers. Why did you-"_

 _"Transmission terminated." Simmons shut off the conversation and ended it. He faced Dorian. "That's how you deal with these people. They need to know their place. Nothing more. Nothing less."_

 _Dorian sighed and reluctantly agreed with his claim. "I could not have ended that better myself sir, but is there really a spy in the facility?"_

 _"Yes. Two in fact. I believe WOOHP sent one and the other was sent by an unknown party."_

" _Verkraft?"_

" _Maybe… Lord Spencer's orders are to kill them on sight. We got to keep up the charade somehow."_

 _"Wolfpack isn't more important than your charade?"_

 _"Are you getting soft on me, General?" Simmons chuckled. "I cannot be disclosed this early. It's them or us. And if we succeed we'll make a better Wolfpack."_

 _"Won't be the same," Dorian whispered._

 _"Spencer wants the spies eliminated. To keep my position, it has to be done."_

 _"Are the spies that important?"_

 _"Honestly… No. They'll find incriminating evidence against Umbrella, and that's it. None of that is a factor for Master Romanov. In fact, if the spies survive it will only make things move faster for Master Romanov's uprising, at the cost of my disclosure being considerably quicker."_

 _"How can you guarantee Lord Spencer linking the spies' survival to you?"_

 _"He gave me the order to get Wolfpack to eliminate them. He knows… If the spies survive, he'll begin to question us and me indefinitely."_

" _We can't have that can we?"_

 _Dorian knew Simmons cared little for human life and casualties, almost less so than him himself. If he or Simmons gave the order to kill the spies and they somehow failed, Spencer would grow suspicious to some degree, and Romanov's uprising would happen quicker ahead of schedule, though the risk of early disclosure is a factor._

 _If there was mutiny involved on Wolfpack's end, they could leave the spies to survive and move things around faster, without any fingers pointed to him or Simmons._

 _As results go, their cover won't unfold as early; it will be all on Wolfpack's defiance. Who will be asked to eliminate them? In reality, they still have their uses to Dorian. If he can cause a mutiny, he could easily cover up their actions. Win-win._

 _Wolfpack could be given another chance at the cost of using them as a scapegoat, and more importantly, it will speed things up for Lord Spencer to step down and Simmons to take centre stage. It is inevitable either way. The quicker way has zero risks if it's executed precisely and accordingly to his plan._

 _"You say the spies aren't relevant to Neo-Umbrella or Master Romanov?"_

 _"Correct."_

 _"There is a blessing hidden in this opportunity. One I must investigate."_

 _"To confirm your position in Neo-Umbrella, I want you to extract Mr James. James is the future of Neo-Umbrella, and he is the main priority. That is all we want from you. The vacancy shares the same status of the task. He dies… you won't get the bonuses."_

 _"I never fail." Dorian stepped off the podium and walked to the elevator alone. Refusing to make eye contact with anyone, he took out his PDA as the elevator doors closed behind him. He was alone. He called Wolfpack's Captain LUPO. She picked up._

 _"This is Wolfpack. LUPO speaking."_

 _"LUPO, this is General Savage."_

 _"What do you want?"_

 _"I want you to condone command's orders to eliminate the spies-"_

 _"We were just told-"_

 _"Those were Lord Spencer's orders; I'm giving you new orders..."_

 _"What's the difference?"_

" _Spencer doesn't care about you and my orders will benefit your survival." LUPO murmured in the background. "I'm sending you new coordinates for an escape chinook located on the Main Street by the overhead bridge. It is commandeered by Captain Rodriguez of Bravo Team. I want you to find it and wait for him to leave the city."_

 _"What of the spies? We cannot leave a job undone, and we cannot just ignore..."_

 _"Command ignored your requests; you simply ignored theirs-"_

 _"You're command aren't you?" she interrupted._

 _"Command is under the orders of Lord Spencer and his interests. Right now_ I _am your command, and I want you just to follow_ MY _orders and head to extraction."_

 _"You serious? You're helping us get out of the city alive?"_

 _"You're no use to me dead, and if Lord Spencer can't see that, then he doesn't deserve your service."_

 _"I have the coordinates for the Main Street… You are serious." Her voice lost some serious tone, and she spoke almost fondly. This was never heard of. "Thank you, General." Her tone returned to the default gruff and assertive. Couldn't let emotion get in the way of her duty. "There must be something we can do for you in return."_

 _"No one tells me how to do my job, not even Lord Spencer, especially when I've been given a better opportunity. If Umbrella asks any questions, your team formed a mutiny, and there was nothing I could do to change that. And to save future complications, I'm taking down the comms between you and command. I'll mark you as MIA."_

" _We cannot just abandon our objective."_

" _Your objectives are the ones_ I _give you, not command's; I'm protecting my assets. The choice is yours. A chance to leave or fight and die for nothing."_

 _"The spies? What are you going to do about them?"_

 _"Fuck 'em. Umbrella's coming apart anyway, and after this ordeal, it will most likely collapse upon itself exceptionally quicker for our benefit."_

 _"What are you talking about?"_

 _"Get to extraction and don't make any further calls to command. Your team is dead to Umbrella. If there are any change of plans, I will call. Good luck with your escape. General Savage out." Dorian hung up._

 _On the way up the several floors, Dorian had time to think. What if the orders coming from Lord Spencer were just the ramblings of an old possibly deranged man. If anyone deserved to rule the new Umbrella, it would be an experienced master like Romanov, a money-making optimist like Simmons or the determined ambition of Savage._

 _The grand corporation may have started from something as little as a virus, but it will not end because of Spencer's wrongdoings. Neo-Umbrella will rise from the ashes. He put too much trust in his loyalists and failed to please them. Those were the defectors._

 _At his stop on the ground floor, Dorian made another call. This one was to Bravo Team's Captain Rodriguez. There was no answer from his side, considering that he abandoned his post and went AWOL why would he respond to his boss who is known to kill rather than talk? Feared for his life most likely._

 _With people in formal wear coming and going past him from the row of office cubicles, Dorian found an empty desk to lean against away from the people. The office cubicles were swamped with simple-minded fools in business wear._

 _This was a classified call. If anyone were to eavesdrop, he would have to kill them, and that would make a mess of the clean office. Cause a panic maybe. He liked panic, but the noise of humans and their crying is insufferable._

 _After a minute of silence, Dorian had to make the first move. Otherwise, the call would be just another waste of time. "I know you're there, Captain Rodriguez. This is General Savage." Still no answer. Why would someone pick up but not answer? "I know you went AWOL, Captain. Answer me."_

 _A voice from the other side was heard. Is was Rodriguez's deep-toned voice, as clear as day. "It was only a matter of time before that became obvious to you, General," he said._

 _"It became obvious to me because Mr Simmons made me a similar offer to yours, Captain."_

 _"So Mr Simmons bought you out did he? In that case, what can I do for you, Mr Savage?"_

 _"You will still address me as general, Captain. That hasn't changed." Dorian drummed his fingertips on the edge of the desk. "Seeing Mr Simmons' employer bought me out, like you, I have new orders for you."_

 _"Oh?"_

 _Dorian stood from the desk and turned around to face the wall. He scratched his head, staring at the cracks and the fading colours. "I have a few people I need evacuating-"_

 _"How many?" Rodriguez sharply queried, almost instantly._

 _"Eleven. Myself included."_

 _"That's not a problem, sir. May I ask who?"_

 _"I'd keep the questions to a minimum if I were you, and for my sake, I'm glad I'm not…" Dorian scanned around the office with his keen eyes. Everyone pacing around the office was gone, he was alone. "Wolfpack and a couple from Alpha will be attending your evacuation, and I will be escorting a VIP sometime soon shortly after to join them. And there might be the U.S.S. quartermaster, but that's a maybe… Will this be a problem?"_

 _"No. That's fine with me."_

 _"When will be your departure?"_

 _"Depends on when the city goes full belly-up or when Code XX has been finalised.."_

 _"Be sure to inform me if there are any change of plans concerning your evacuation."_

 _"Can do."_

 _"General Savage out." Dorian hung up his PDA and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The office was humid from the human-generated heat. He could feel the heat with greater intensity, unlike any other emotion or feeling. He walked past the office cubicles, and nothing was even remotely worthy to pay any attention to, they were empty and unimportant. There was no time to waste being a desk jockey._

 _Dorian didn't need to stop at this level of the office building, why he did baffle him to some degree. It was just a miscalculation. There were seven floors of the office with the rooftop being the highest and sub-level 13, being at the basement level. What was that supposed to mean? No one knew._

 _Taking a step outside through the dull reception area, past the translucent double doors, Dorian was free from the office. He took a massive breath of the fresh air, and enjoyed every speck of the mayhem after-taste. Outside the rusted iron gates it was common to see zombies littering the streets. He stepped up close to the green gates, close enough to see the paint chipping away._

 _Two zombies noticed Dorian and slowly dragged their weighted bodies to him. They began clawing at the gates trying to get a hold of him. He took the time to study them and provide a personal assessment._

 _Zombies idly shuffle about on their merry way, engorging their simple instincts with their primitive commands. Never slowed down by emotions, limitations like pain or threshold and certainly not hindered by the brain's commands._

 _The T-virus seems to draw out the creature's straightforward and primitive commands. Feed, move on. Feed, move on. With those two being their only commands it's all they do. Not because they want to, it's because they have no choice._

 _Even though it was an unfortunate infection and not a controlled experiment the ability to eliminate the useless qualities in subjects and forcing them to obey the ones they inherit or are given was undeniable. Human lives wasn't a problem for this corporation._

 _With the air around him being positively refreshing, and the sounds of the zombie horde looking most excitable it was a fantastic time to get to work. Before he did that, another call was to be made. As much as he'd enjoy the challenge of escaping the city with only his bare hands Dorian was on the clock and had no time for the pleasure. This call was to the U.S.S. quartermaster._

 _After some long waited seconds, the quartermaster picks up. "Quartermaster Scam," the pleasant young man said, "How can I help you?"_

 _"Mr Scam, it's General Savage."_

 _"Ahhh, what can I do for you, sir?"_

 _"I need to place an order. Have you got time to spare?"_

 _"Yes, I have." Scam left the line and was heard walking away, slowly fading. A few seconds he came back and took a breath. "Pen and paper's here. What can I get for you?" Dorian snickered, smiling nefariously._


	8. Cornering a cowardly rat

In what felt like a long time, an hour or so, in reality, was just mere minutes, the surgery was successful. Scott had saved Annette's fragile life. The scar over the torso was long but not very noticeable. The two over her eyes were just as hard to see, thanks to the human eyebrow.

Lastly, the forced smile she had was not as noticeable as one might think. It's a shame it made her look slightly intimidating, yet she was a delicate flower with dreams and determination. Halfway through the poor thing blacked out, the anaesthetic did its job.

Annette looked peaceful. She appeared to be gorgeous, and the serenity within her was glowing. Her hums and soft sounds were adorable. While she hunched into the fetal position, her mumbles were full of bliss. The surgeon wasn't needed here anymore.

Stepping over the ladder to the cavernous passage Scott stared back at Annette, no, he stared back at the brave little girl whose life he'd just saved. The human life was so fragile. A child like her needed parental guidance. This parent could only spare one thing while she was recovering. Scott took off his lab coat and covered Annette with it. She smiled and clutched the collars to curl up inside the warmth of it.

In hindsight, Annette was still a child, like the ones he has to care for now as a father and a brother. With no parents to look up to for advice, he has to be the parent of not just his kin but his siblings also. Without Zaac, it's just Alex and his own family.

"Cindy. My love…" Scott mused. "I wish you were here… I can't do this without you." _No. No! I can do this. I must do this. I will do this_.

Scott placed a light kiss on Annette's forehead and walked away to the ladder. And then descended lower into the darkness, back into his personal hell. His workplace. Down there Claire was waiting with folded arms with Sherry. Claire's bare legs from the knees to her feet were soaked with fresh green filth.

"You're still here?" Scott wondered.

"Not 'still here', we went up and found the doors to the Chemical Plant locked."

"Did you check?"

"Of course I did. Look." Claire pointed to her dirty boots with a disgusted expression. "You didn't tell me we'd be walking around in this crap."

"It's a sewer, Claire. What else did you expect?"

"If it's a facility with people in it I figured there wouldn't be any crap like this."

"It's a secret passage. One of which that's highly unused because of the very fact of the murky sewers. And did you say the doors into the facility was locked?"

"Yes. Are they electronically locked or something?"

"Usually but who secured them I don't know."

Claire threw her arms above her head with frustration. "Great! We can't get in."

"Don't be too quick to assume. I can get them open."

"Really?"

"Grantee it."

Claire, Sherry and Scott took the ladder up out of the cavernous passage and into the damp sewers above. There was more to do with Raccoon City than the city itself; there was plenty of life beneath the surface. There used to be the day before.

The doors that were once closed were slightly open. Claire swore it was locked. Back into the unclean waters, the three stepped further into the sewage. The sewers were the only way inside the Chemical Plant; it was a secret facility.

Four steps into the grimy odourless waste, there was movement behind them as petty rubble and dust rained upon them. From the balcony behind a large figure was seen by Claire's curious eyes. It wasn't human. Scott looked over to Claire's sudden stop and quickly glanced at the figure in disbelief, there was more to the monster than the threatening appearance alone.

Prowling around with heavy footsteps again on the balcony was the monster from the department. Eight feet in height and looked even bloodier than last time, the blood dripped off its massive talons and the iron pipe it wielded.

Must've been the monster that killed Irons. It was almost human-like from the torn bloodied white coat, and brown trousers, this mutant of sorts bored deeply into Scott's head. Claire never saw such a monster at all and when she checked back at Scott his face ran white. Whatever he felt, he wasn't the only one.

From the upper balcony, it couldn't see anything down below. Could it be tunnel vision? From the angle, it could definitely hear something because it stopped and looked around. Something disturbed its senses as it carried on and abruptly stopped again. It wasn't aware…

Claire tucked Sherry behind her and reached for Scott, but his eyes were still fixed on the monster above. Until the monster made eye contact back at Scott, he finally budged. Claire pleaded he move and he did. The very second the monster stepped closer towards the railing Scott pulled Claire and Sherry through the double doors and quickly went at the keypad on the other side to lock them.

The PDA Scott used was more of a mobile hacking override tool. It was very advanced for the present time and optimised to be used with a touchscreen. The security system for the doors needed a keycard or a pin code of sorts, and Scott just fiddled with the device, and after a ding, it was apparently done. It took less than five seconds to seal the double doors tight.

"What the hell was that thing?" Claire stuttered fearfully.

Scott felt Sherry brush against his leg; she was always skittish. He brushed her blonde hair and adjusted his spectacles. "That monster is probably the one terrorising the R.P.D. Could be the one who killed Chief Irons."

"Will the doors hold back that monster?"

"Only until someone opens them again."

Claire felt the layers of grime on the sewer walls. The moss between the cobblestone bricks was sticky, and she brushed her hand against the green filth by her knees and got to wondering. "This isn't regular sewage is it?"

"Just chemical refuse. It's not healthy, but it's not dangerous."

Without warning a floodgate next to Sherry opened, and suction began. The force was so much it was enough to suck Sherry into the lower level, carried away by the cold refuse. Scott rushed to the floodgate and reached out for Sherry but his fingers barely touched hers, and she was gone. Before Claire found where Sherry was sucked, though it was too late.

"Dammit!" Scott fumed.

"Sherry!" Claire cried. "No..."

"Sherry, where are you?" Scott tried to look through the floodgate, but the flowing refuse obscured his vision. "Sherry!"

"I'm fine. I don't think there's any way back up from down here."

"Sherry, just stay safe," Claire said, "We'll find a way back to you."

"You have a lot of trust for Sherry…" Scott said, standing back up after his fruitless action. He stretched his hunched back and cleared his throat.

"Are you telling me you don't, Scott?"

"Of course I do, what kind of man would I be if I couldn't trust my own family? What I'm getting at is that you only just met Sherry and suddenly you assume a motherly role over her. What gives?"

Claire wasn't sure if she should take that as an insult. It was coming from a friend, so she let it slide. "What are you trying to say?"

"You don't know her or where she comes from. You're getting a little too involved-"

"No disrespect intended but I don't need anyone to tell me how to be a good person."

"I'm not telling you anything. Only that faith is built on a foundation of trust. If the flow is disturbed," he waved his hand, "it's all over in seconds. Years of trust becomes a foundation of lies."

"My parents raised me to be one of the good guys, to see the good in people. I just don't want to see anyone get hurt, here on out."

"That's real motivation, even if it is unhealthy." Scott turned away and carried on walking towards the end of the waterway. Claire followed close by. "Can't save everyone..."

Scott caught her attention. "Hmm?"

"Zaac used to think that way. He thought he could save everyone, even when the situation was out of his control, he died believing that he would win." Scott stopped with Claire. He addressed her. "He'd go out his way to do everything he can to control the situation. It's an unhealthy condition, one of which I wish he stopped encouraging while he was ahead. He should have just given up, but he didn't. Took it to the grave..."

"How could you talk about him like that? Have some respect, please."

"I only wished he was a realist like me. If he were to understand the grave situation as I did, he would still be alive to this day."

"He wouldn't give up like that, though. That's not who he is."

"I suppose it isn't. Better for him to die the way God intended rather than someone he's not." He waved his head. "Talking about my little bro should make me feel sad… but I don't feel anything… Must be the meds..." Scott felt dizzy. He stumbled and leant on the wall to his right and placed his right hand on the slimy bricks.

"You okay?"

"I don't know. I…" Scott held his head with his free hand. "I've been taking a lot of drugs recently; I think they're wearing off now." He stood back up and shook his head quickly. "We still need to find Sherry." He resumed his pace through the waste and climbed over a high ledge. Claire still followed.

"Any idea where we'll find her?"

"All floodgates lead to the BF2 dumping area; we'll intercept her there."

Claire climbed over the ledge. The height peaked at her waist. "You have this wrapped up."

They stepped into a control room that was used for sewer monitoring and maintenance. The control devices were unused and had visible layers of dust. Personal belongings closed the corner of lockers to the left; it must've been demoted to being a lowly staff room. One that was mostly used by the slacking workers of the Raccoon sewer services. The entire corner was collecting dust, nothing of value was worth a look.

Hunched over the table in the middle of the room was another person. He was rifling through documents and personal effects scattered over the whole table. Like Scott only older and just as distressed. He was a blond man in his late-twenties, light goatee and wore the same expensive spectacles.

At the second the two stepped into the room the man hopped away from the table, literally dropping everything he was doing. Not only the sense of surprise bored into his trembling face, but he also appeared to be apprehensive at the first moment he locked eyes with Scott.

"D-Dr Wesker?!" the man stammered. "You're alive?!" He breathed quickly after. "That's excellent..."

"Richard? What are you still doing here?"

"It's safer down here than up there on the surface," Richard chuckled nervously.

"Got that right. Scott, you know him?"

Richard pointed at Claire viscously with his bony finger. "Who's that?!"

"That's none of your business, Mr James," Scott said, adjusting his spectacles. "We're here looking for Birkin's daughter Sherry. Have you seen her around anywhere?"

Richard hesitated and quickly hid away his pointing hand behind his back. "No, I haven't..."

"What's wrong with you, Richard? You're acting-"

"Suspicious?" Claire interrupted.

Scott looked down to Claire. "My thoughts exactly..."

As soon as Scott looked away from Richard, he pulled out a Browning HP from his rear and aimed at Scott. "Stay away from me, Doctor!" he screeched. He had a hostile look in his crooked smile. Scott put up his hands, hoping he wouldn't shoot.

"Seriously? Again?" Claire sighed. She has never drawn at gunpoint in the first nineteen years of her life, and now in the last few days, she's already been taken at gunpoint four times. No one is this unlucky.

"James, what are you doing?! Put the gun down!"

"You being alive has compromised everything!"

"What are you talking about? Dammit, put the gun down now!" Richard stood still. He never moved or shown any signs of listening. Scott moved closer to him very slowly; the tiniest body movements was crucial to him. "That's an _order_ , Mr James!" he barked.

"An order?!" Richard moved his aim to Scott's face and pulled his handgun's hammer back. The sound of the click was too aware to Scott, and it made sure that he stopped dead in his tracks. "I'm sick of your orders doctor! It's all I bloody get! 'Richard, get me chemical SF-2.' 'Richard, open that door.' Richard, do this. Richard, do that. Do you have any idea what it's like being bossed around like that, Doctor!?"


	9. Heroes never die - for a price

Scott was still stood in fear of having Richard's handgun aiming for his face. In the time it slowly drooped down to his chest with deadly intentions. He stared into open space of sudden recollection. Claire, on the other hand, was thinking about her Colt S.A.A. tucked away by her hip, and how quickly she could fire at Richard. The reflective spectacles of his though made it hard to determine who or what he was focusing on. She'd never know so she couldn't risk it.

"What do you have to say to that, Doctor? You always have some witty remarks saved."

Scott's eyes rolled to Richard's own and met them accordingly. Their glares locked. "That's why you betrayed the team…"

"How'd-"

"You're the traitor!"

Scott reached for his handgun as quickly as he could from the holster under his left armpit. It was in vain, Richard had already landed a shot at his chest and stunned Scott's swift motion. Then placed round into the right side of his chest. Scott dropped his handgun to his feet and tumbled back.

Claire quickly drew her revolver and fired a powerful 9mm round clean through Richard's right shoulder, he dropped his handgun and cried. Scott fell into her grasp and held him close and tried to keep him on his feet. She tried to keep Richard in her sights, but he was already running away to a ladder opposite them.

Before Richard could flee Claire fired again, this round had missed his head by the fraction of an inch and landed into the wall be the ladder. She extended her arm to fire a third shot, but Richard had scuttled away down the ladder out of sight.

"Dammit," Claire muttered. She held Scott on his feet, and he was able to straighten up before hunching back into pain. "Stay with me, Scott."

"AH! Shit!" Scott cursed harshly. "AH! Ah… That hurt!" He cringed. "Why am I the one who gets shot first…"

"It's always the healers, Scott."

Scott collapsed onto the table, face down. "Where'd that fucker go!"

"A ladder by the table."

"Doesn't matter," he groaned. "It doesn't go anywhere." He pointed to a small out of place platform in the far left corner of the room. "Elevator… Take that elevator down to BF2 and follow the waste to Sherry… Fastly!"

"Fastly?"

"Just go," he said, "Find Sherry."

"I can't leave you like this."

"Don't worry about me… Just get going."

Claire nodded and rushed to the red platform Scott pointed at. It was big enough for two persons, but this time she was going further into hell solo. She felt sorry for leaving Scott to bleed on the table, he didn't deserve that, but it's what he wanted. Had to oblige.

"After everything we did for him..." Scott mumbled. He bled quietly over the table. His blood stained the paperwork and the personal belongings that once belonged to decent workers.

Scott lifted himself up a few inches and slid his hand on something; he fell. His blood was thin because of the copious amount of things he had taken the last few days and thus slipped on the forming pool of blood under his hand.

The second time was successful. Scott was back up on his will, and after one swift push, he was back up on his own two feet off the table. Now blood ran from his chest like a gout of rushing water at an alarming rate. He was getting weak. He couldn't close the wounds with his hands; there was no force. It did nothing.

"Mark my words Richard…" He extended his arm. "Even if it takes me twenty-one YEARS… I'll find you and… I'll kill you..." He chuckled weakly, and his arms fell flat at his sides.

After a single step forward Scott came tumbling back at the door and pressed his back against the wall by it. He slumped and sat down on the ground. The wall was cold; it was refreshing as the cold air that followed through the gaps of the door.

When things went bleak, Scott's eyelids felt heavy, and the void of darkness was closing in. He could see his heart beat erratically through his chest. The rhythm was angry and all over the place, kicking around between his lungs. The withdrawal symptoms were starting to wear off. He could feel his back burning against the wall, his temperature burning to the touch and the inside of his mouth tasting like the Sahara Desert.

Scott's head dropped, his arms fell flat, all things went to black. With the tiniest slither of hope he prayed, for the first time in his life, he prayed for someone to help him. The door by him suddenly opened, his hearing wasn't quite gone yet. He pried his eyelids open wide enough to see the small feet stood by him.

Whoever his guardian was she sounded beautiful; her voice was like an angel strumming a golden harp, serene and kind. She brushed Scott's unkempt hair back with her gentle hand and raised his chin up to her level with the other; her skin was as soft as her fingertips lightly rubbed his cheek.

He squinted his eyes to see his guardian angel. She took off his spectacles and brushed over his left ear and down the back of his neck. She placed a small kiss on his forehead and put away his spectacles into his shirt's pocket.

Annette Parker… Scott's saviour was the very woman he had saved. She looked gorgeous, her smile was perfect, and her eyes were a flawless emerald green. The scars over her eyebrows and mouth were unnoticeable, and her cheeks were rosy. In hindsight, she was an angel. Positively glowing, she was.

"Annette..." Scott breathed.

Annette shushed Scott with her thumb against his lips. "Save your strength," she whispered. She took the med-pak from Scott's rear and laid him down on the colder ground. Arms at the side, he was very still and had stopped moving. "Rest easy, Doc, I'm here for you."

"I hope you know what you're doing..." he breathed again. His breaths were more relaxed and calmer than before.

She was in the zone. Annette had little to no experience in matters like this, but she was willing to do what she could with what she got. "I've seen _Casualty_. It can't be much harder than that."

"That terrible show…?" Scott choked. "Oh goodness gracious, I'm gonna die… I'm gonna die at work..."

"Heroes never die," she smiled. She unbuttoned Scott's shirt and let out his shaved torso to the open fresh air. His body was quivering, and his wounds were suckling. She didn't have to, but she felt across his bare chest, never been this close to another man before. "You've been shot," she remarked. "I think I know what to do."

"CB-2 and forceps..."

Annette examined the contents of the med-pak, and there were enough medical items for bullet wounds. The years in the R.P.D. taught her a few things about bullet removal. Armed with forceps and a syringe of that green chemical CB-2, she was ready to get to work. "You may feel a little prick, Doc." She made a small movement, and the needle was sheathed into Scott's tense neck. The chemical was entering his veins.

"Annette…" he breathed. "Thank you..." Scott tried to give a thumbs up but gave up entirely and passed out.

"It's time to repay my debt to you." She put away the syringe and rolled up his lab coat and slid it under Scott's head. She soon got to work on him and bored into his bullet wounds for the pesky 9mm with the forceps.

Leon was alone in the north side sewers. Of course, he was still looking for Ada. _Why did she have to go alone?_ he thought. _Why? Walking around in green muck wasn't worth any woman…_ Leon swore he saw something special in her though; she wasn't any woman. She was different. Couldn't tell what it was but the chemistry was there. Like friends with benefits sort of thing that can last a long, long time.

With slow steps through the muck, Leon walked with his VP70 armed and ready. He wiped his forehead clean and heard some sounds of gunfire. It was coming from around a left corner in front of him. He darted forward and hugged the grimy wall and peeked around the corner.

"Ada?"

The voice of another woman was heard around the corner to the west side. "There's nothing here for you thief!" she yelled.

It was Ada. She was hugging the wall opposite Leon and was pinned from an assailant. A blonde woman in white had the higher ground beyond the passage in the middle of the area. Ada couldn't leave herself exposed; she had to solely rely on a little make-up mirror inside her small golden compact to peek around the corner. It was evident in the reflection; the woman wanted to kill her.

Her Browning HP was laying in between her and Leon, waiting for her to recollect and save herself. It was out of reach and a bit of a stretch, but she was willing to dash for it? With the occasional bullets striking the wall often, she had to be quick. Leon saw that look in her eye; she was going to go for it, she was tempted to leave cover and risk it all.

"Ada, no!"

Leon's cry was of no use, Ada was already out of cover and inches away from her handgun. At the slightest touch of her lightweight handgun she hunched over, the gunwoman shot it clean out of her grasp and stood up from the metal storage crates she was hiding behind. Ada's hand felt nothing but the stone ground.

"Farewell..." the gunwoman muttered with a focusing glare. Ada was hunched in her sights.

Out of a sudden whimsical urge, Leon darted for Ada and went as quick as he could to save her from the open. He wrapped his arm around her torso and moved her from her current position, the same couldn't be said for himself, at the cost of relocating her, he was hit in the chest. He collapsed as a result.

Ada dragged Leon's weak body out of harm's way and back to her corner. His weight was more than she thought, the blue R.P.D. armour he was wearing wasn't very efficient compared to the weight. Still writhing on the wet floor, Leon firmly clutched his left shoulder and suppressed the pain best he could, but blood still seeped and soaked through his uniform. His breaths were short and quick.

Ada stood up and frowned down to Leon. "Leon," she uttered. "Why…?"

Safer far away down the west passage, Ada set Leon up against the wall and sat him down to rest easier. Ada knew how to fix bullet wounds and didn't hesitate to get started with some thorough feeling around inside the cavity.

"You're losing a lot of blood," she commented. "Don't move, I gotta remove the bullet."

"Who was that?" he breathed, "she was about to kill you."

Ada ceased feeling around Leon's wound and looked around inside of the brown pouch latched on her belt for something. She dared not to make eye contact with him. "That's my problem. Not yours."

"Fine..." he breathed, "don't tell me. But you better start working with me here, or we'll never make it out of this alive," he still breathed. Leon's heated hollow breaths were fading into obscurity, and his left arm was limp. He held Ada's hand with a weak grip and held her closer. "Please, Ada…" he breathed, "I need your help… I can't do this alone."

Ada rested her eyes back at Leon's. "You're right," she uttered. "I'll help..."

Leon's tense body eased up visually, and his voice soothed down, albeit still consumed by his heavy breaths he relaxed his shoulders. "Thanks..." His head dipped down. His eyes closed.

"But first…" she said, opening her make-up gadget. It was a golden spy-tech. Under the make-up was a syringe and two small empty phials. A secret compartment. "I won't let you die on me, Leon… I owe you."


	10. Placing an order

_It was getting dark now. At eight or so o'clock in the very early night, it was reaching complete darkness on the streets of Raccoon. Dorian wasn't even mad in the slightest; his cat-like eyes didn't need to see to perceive. They were based on sound and senses of surroundings. It was fairly cold, though, cold enough for Dorian to roll up his collars and pick up the pace._

 _Umbrella has far too many secret facilities than they can handle. B.O.W. Factories, Containment Departments and Training Facilities. Some armouries were constructed just to use up the leftover buildings. This Umbrella armoury wasn't as hidden than the secret facilities are usually, must be why it's an armoury and not used for classified research. This one was on the outskirts of a local suburb._

 _On the outside, the armoury represented an average office building, four or five floors of emptiness with two serving as the ones that deal arms to Umbrella personnel. An office building with eight feet stone wall and security measures consisting of a card reader and a numeral pad weren't suspicious at all._

 _Dorian was on the clock still. He went to call Scam to get his order ready, and he wasn't there, his number rang seven times before nothing. Bitter silence. Dorian sooner kill the person who dares to leave him hanging, but it wasn't the time to be egotistic. His order was waiting for him, and Scam's approval wasn't mandatory._

 _Being the only Umbrella armoury in Raccoon the security system would be on, and if triggered it'll make one hell of a racket, something of which no one needs right now so hopping over the wall wasn't worth it. The keycard and pin were the way to go for now._

 _Treading slowly on the tarmac, then the gravel, Dorian came to the secure double doors of the average office building and rang for Scam again. The line was dead after ringing several times into nothing._ What an outrage _, he thought._

 _Something is wrong. The metal shutters were up behind the barred windows, the hidden cameras were scanning the grounds, and yet the turrets at the gates were still inactive._

 _To deactivate the security system was something only the facility manager or an Umbrella Council member could do. That's one of the perks of being the U.S.S. general, Dorian can do anything he wants._

 _Dorian bypassed the security system with his PDA but allowed them to stay online and just opened the doors in the way. His order was all he desired. The thick metal doors slid open and let Dorian through._

 _The interior was tidy, the weapon display counter was organised, and the armament rack inside the kiosk was stocked. There wasn't many chairs or seating in the main room, nor there was anything on the walls._

 _There used to be a good selection of paintings decorating the room; the art used to be something so spectacular that they could even make Chief Irons dribble. Scam was seen behind the counter inside the kiosk. He watched Dorian survey the room before coming to the board to be served._

 _Tim Scam looked like he hadn't slept in days, smelt even worse up close. Bags were starting to show under his eyes with slight signs of stress. Despite that, the dark-haired young man in fancy black formal wear sounded as young as vibrant as Dorian does on his best days. Scam's body movements were quite timid, and that just wasn't good enough for an arms dealer. More approachable on the phone than in person._

 _"General Savage," Tim cupped his hands, "how can I help you?"_

 _"Why haven't you been answering my calls, Scam?"_

 _"I had to keep my communications silent. A thousand apologies, sir, I did see you arrive, but please understand me when I say that I-"_

 _With one wave, Dorian interrupted Scam's babbling. "A number of apologies you have to say means nothing to me. Now what's going on here and why is the security system online?"_

 _"An agent from WOOHP has been sent to Raccoon City to find me. I've seen how they can track people like me over communications and through third parties. I'm not safe using the U.S.S. or the Umbrella network."_

 _"Don't be such a coward. Their agents aren't anything special."_

 _"I'd figure ol' Jerry sent in his some spies after me." Tim sighed. "That'll be nice." He coughed loudly._

 _Dorian folded his arms with a snarl. "You can't expect me to believe you're the type to get frightened of a bunch of prepubescent spies."_

 _"Normally I wouldn't because we know WOOHP agents do not kill. No firearms are to be issued by order of the guardian, but the one after me is the only agent that has the authorisation to kill. They call him the Red Baron or the Rad Russian." Tim coughed loudly into his hand. "He's ruthless and tough to kill. It's hard to get any sleep with him around on the prowl. Sly Russian dog is far too cunning for my taste."_

 _"Bring your turrets online and get some sleep, for Christ's sake. You're falling apart."_

 _"I don't want to make it too obvious. I kept the defences to a minimum so I can make it look like I'm unaware, that way he'll come in without any problems. Then after that, the turrets will come online and kill him. Getting the turrets up and some hours of sleep isn't a bad idea. I can always spring up my trap later after I catch a few Zs."_

 _"Before we descend too far into your personal affairs I came for my order."_

 _"Okay. Time for business." Tim stretched his fingers and checked around behind the counter for something under the display. He took some time coming and going but came back with a large wooden box. "I have everything you asked for right here, sir. Is it for now or to go?"_

 _"I have no time for the packaging. I require the arms right away."_

 _"That's fine with me, sir. Guess we'll skip the target practice." Tim opened the wooden box and took out the P90 that was resting inside. The magazine was empty and sat next to to the thick black silencer beside the weapon. "I must say this bad boy is a fine piece of German engineering."_

 _"It is up to spec?"_

 _"Laserex model with a silencer to boot. Damn straight.."_

 _"Excellent," Dorian smiled._

 _Tim set down the P90. "There's been a slight miscalculation..." Tim frowned._

 _Dorian's smile fell upside down. He leant on the counter. "What did you miscalculate?" He strummed his fingers on the glass display repeatedly. "You do realise this 'miscalculation' will hurt your payment."_

 _"Fair enough… I have all the ammo and arms but the matter of explosives… Anyway, here's your P90 IR."_

 _Tim handed Dorian the P90 and then took out two small wooden boxes, a burlap pouch and a larger wooden box. Dorian was getting used to the size and weight of the weapon and had already adjusted the sights and stock to his preference. The green laser sight was something to behold, it never left a trail and was invisible to the human eye. He attached his silencer to the barrel. Tim was getting hot and bothered watching him, he coughed and wiped his hands on the white rag hanging from his front pocket._

 _Dorian put his P90 on the counter. "Is this everything?"_

 _"Yes, it is," Tim answered. He took out a jet black shiny Beretta 93R from the smallest box and placed it next to Dorian. "You have expensive taste, sir. This model of the Beretta family is a rare find. Selectable three round rapid fire capability doesn't come by often."_

 _"That's why I like it."_

 _"And last but not least… My favourite." Tim opened the last small box slowly, savouring every moment of the brand new smell. Inside was a gold-plated .50AE Desert Eagle, with a mod to increase the barrel length by a few inches rested under it. They were shiny and in perfect condition._

 _"My my… Is it coated with aluminium nitrate as I asked?"_

 _"Best money will buy."_

 _"Excellent," Dorian smiled._

 _"That just leaves the specialised ammunition," Tim smiled and opened the last box. This one was the largest of the three. Inside were rows of stacked magazines loaded with 5.7x28mm, 9mm and .50AE. Pre-loaded with their respected rounds and ready to go. Six of each in total, it completely packed the container in neat rows. "Ta-da..."_

 _"Jolly good," he exclaimed._

 _"FN 5.7x28mm, 9mm JHP and .50AE FMJ. In that exact order." Tim closed the wooden box and placed a black belt on top of it. "I took the liberty of finding the right gear to hold all the munitions. Hope it fits."_

 _Dorian cackled like a deranged child in a candy store. It was heaven filling each pocket and satchel of the belt to the brim with loaded magazines for his new toys. More toys included more bloodshed per second._

 _"You have the right weapons to tackle a small army, but what's with the Desert Eagle? A single shot from that could put down Oscar."_

 _"Oscar?"_

 _"Never been to the zoo?" Tim shrugged. "Never mind."_

 _"I need a personal weapon in case I run into any rogue tyrants. It's happened before with T-001, and I don't want any surprises. I'm starting to take a shine for magnums now anyway. Gets monotonous using U.S.S. handguns, the idea of a cannon in the palm of my hand might make a lasting impression on armoured targets."_

 _"Like Tyrants?"_

 _"Nothing but. And before the matter of payment are we forgetting something…? Like my grenades?"_

 _"The thing about the miscalculation is the fact I have the grenades just... not all of them."_

 _Dorian sighed. "How many do you have?" Tim nudged the leather satchel with WWII-era grenades closer to him. There were only three in plain sight. "I asked for six!"_

 _"Granted, I honestly stand out arranging to purchase rare goods but not the vintage variety. When I asked for stielhandgranate, this was all my source had at the time." Dorian took a grenade from the satchel and grasped it with both hands. "Good thing too. He asked me twice about being serious or not because it is a strange grenade to call for present time. He wouldn't sell at first but when I mentioned your name he caved." Tim placed his hands on the counter and leant on it. "I had to barter pretty hard for these, you know… I have plenty of other grenades…"_

 _"Good for you. I want these because they do not roll when they land, plus I can throw them further. Two qualities I like." Dorian took the belt and checked the length. His chest and waist were a firm forty inches, and the belt looked too big at forty-six. "This had better fit," he muttered._

 _With the appropriate belt fitting around Dorian's waist and chest, he had room to spare, and it felt perfect. The straps were snug when they clipped together over his chest, and there was a beige holster for his M93R under his left armpit, and another for the magnum handgun at the back of his hip. Plenty of pouches and pockets for spare magazines and loose ammo for on the go reloading._

 _While the P90 slung over Dorian's shoulder well enough, the few grenades had to be carried in the open beige sack the arrived in and were tied to his belt. There was no secure way to carry them loose. Dorian tugged his jet black blazer back on._

 _"Locked, cocked and ready to rock 'n' roll." Dorian grinned. "Now all that's left is payment? Correct?"_

 _"Unfortunately so," Tim smiled._

 _Dorian rotated slowly towards Tim with a focusing glare. He looked mean only from his serious posture and attitude, wasn't clear if he had other intentions or he was going to pay for the gear. Judging from the city's situation, Dorian could simply kill him and move along without any questions being thrown his way._

 _The confusion in the city's infection would cover his murder up. People need to make money, even a B.O.W, and he did stain his reputation by underperforming..._

 _Tim feared for his life. Behind his still brown eyes, Tim was scared of the fact he might not get paid. Money was his whole world… He heard his heart beat loudly and extremely slow for some reason, like two quick beats every few seconds. Then Dorian slammed his left hand on the counter, breaking Tim from his empty stare._

 _"What's wrong with you?" Dorian asked. "I've been tapping the counter, and you were just staring at the space behind me… What gives?"_

 _"I'm sorry?"_

 _Dorian sighed. "Forget it."_

 _"Shall I put it all on your tab?"_

 _"Not this time. Are you interested in a little trade?"_

 _"Depends really. The gear was expensive, mind you."_

 _"How about an evacuation out of the city in return?"_

 _Tim scoffed. "That's not enough."_

 _"So a guaranteed reservation doesn't tickle your fancy? Oh well, at least you have your sources. I'm sure one of them are willing to get you out the city alive..."_

 _"Are you implying my sources have no way out of the city? Please..."_

 _"Do they?"_

 _"You don't need to know that." Tim smiled._

 _"A smart human like you would realise that their life is more valuable than money. Pity I wasn't able to exploit that for myself to avoid payment. Though if I wanted the money I'd just kill you and take it back..."_

So in some sense, I _was_ right. _"Do you have to say shit like that? It breaks my heart." Tim chuckled. "We're friends you and me."_

 _"Your idea of friendship costs time and money, and that's something I will not participate in. Just put it all on my tab."_

 _"Will do."_

 _"I see a very long future of service to Neo-Umbrella in you, Scam. Play your cards right, and you'll be where I am today." Dorian and put on some black leather gloves. "While you're engorging yourself over my payment you'd best evacuate the city at your earliest convenience. Code XX is in on the way."_

 _"Damn," Tim mumbled. "I expected as much."_

 _"Better call up your source, Raccoon City is not long for this world..." Dorian turned away and unholstered his M93R. It was loaded win anti-personnel rounds. Good for fleshy zombies and humans. He pulled back the hammer and turned off the safety. "I have a mission to attend to." He began walking through the automatic double doors and was out of sight before they could close._


End file.
